Backfired
by Deana
Summary: It's called 'sweet revenge'...but it backfires terribly on Aramis and Treville.
1. Whoopee

.

Backfired  
By Deana  
This is a modern musketeers AU story! For all you skeptical readers, give it a chance, I'm sure you'll enjoy it! ;-)

Thank you to Fleuramis for the title for this story!

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"Gentleman: here it is!"

Athos and Porthos looked up from their desks as Aramis walked into the room.

"That's a whoopee cushion," said Porthos.

"Thank you for stating the obvious, my friend," Aramis answered. "Brilliant detective work!"

Athos studied him for a minute before saying, "Please tell me you _aren't_ that stupid."

Aramis' smile faded. "How did you guess?"

"You're obviously not planning to prank one of _us_ with it," said Athos, gesturing between himself and Porthos. "So who is left? Only the most dangerous person to do that to."

"Captain Treville?!" Porthos exclaimed. "You're gonna whoopee-cushion the _captain_?!"

"Shhh!" Aramis said, smiling again.

"Are you _insane_?" Porthos asked.

"You _know_ he is," Athos calmly said, going back to his writing.

"Do you remember last Christmas when he tricked me into kissing Agatha under the mistletoe?" Aramis shuddered.

Porthos guffawed. "Yes! She was standing there making eyes at you when you weren't looking!"

"Treville did that to get back at you for all the grays that you've put in his hair," said Athos.

"Agatha is seventy-two years old!" Aramis exclaimed, with a shudder. "Well I swore to get him _back_." He held up the whoopee cushion. "This is the _last_ thing he'd ever expect!"

"Awfully childish," said Athos.

"What he did to _me_ was childish," Aramis replied.

Suddenly, the door started to open and Aramis shoved the whoopee cushion into his pocket.

Captain Treville walked in and looked at his three best detectives. "Good morning," he said.

"Morning, captain," they all replied. Aramis stared at him as he kept walking through the room and into his office.

"Will anything I say to you change your mind?" Athos asked.

"Nope!" said Aramis, smiling as he sat down at his own desk and turned on his computer.

As the three men worked, Aramis would chuckle intermittently and kept looking at their captain's office. It was a couple of hours later when Treville came out and said, "I have an appointment; I'll be back."

"Yes sir, captain sir!" said Aramis.

Treville turned to look at him, rolling his eyes and leaving when Aramis gave him a military salute.

Athos and Porthos both looked up when Aramis jumped to his feet and whipped out the whoopee cushion.

"You're still going through with this?" said Porthos, surprised.

"Of course," Aramis answered. He shoved the end in his mouth and blew air into it, inflating it as fast as possible as if afraid that Treville would come back into the room. His head spun and he tipped towards Porthos, who threw out a hand to steady him.

"Whoa, don't suffocate yourself, moron!"

Aramis ignored him and headed into the captain's office before placing the cushion on his chair, pushing the seat as far under the desk as possible so Treville wouldn't see it ahead of time. With a chuckle, he came back out and sat down.

"You _do_ know that you're going to regret that," said Athos.

"I told him that I would get revenge for making me kiss Agatha," Aramis answered. "He knows that something is coming."

"That was five months ago!" said Porthos. "He probably forgot about it!"

Aramis nodded. "He was lulled into a false sense of security!"

Athos shook his head and went back to his work.

When Treville returned, he entered the room and found Athos and Porthos still at their desks, but Aramis was absent. Thinking nothing of it, since he could be in the bathroom or at the water cooler, he headed into his office. "Have a seat, gentlemen," he said.

The governor and the head of the state police followed, closing the door behind them.

In the next room, Athos and Porthos watched the procession with panicked expressions.

"Aramis is dead _meat_ after this!" Porthos hissed. He grabbed his cell phone and quickly texted Aramis, 'You're dead meat! He brought the gov and head statie in there!'

Suddenly, the Darth Vader theme filled the air, and both men realized that Aramis had left his phone on his desk.

"He's dead meat!" Porthos repeated.

*PTHBBBBBBBBT*

Athos and Porthos heard the ominous sound, and they each got up from their desks and quickly filed out the door.

Treville jumped up as if something had burned him. He looked at the whoopee cushion on his chair in shock before picking it up and stalking over to his closet to get rid of it. He pulled the door open and unexpectedly came face to face with Aramis, who'd been hiding in there to witness the prank.

Aramis' face had turned deathly white when he'd seen the other men follow Treville into the room, and he almost passed out when Treville opened the door and caught him there.

Without a word, the captain tossed the whoopee cushion at his face before closing the door again…and locking it.

Treville returned to his seat and continued his meeting with the two surprised men…each of which were inwardly laughing, having been the subjects of many pranks themselves. They acted as if nothing had happened in order to spare Treville the embarrassment, and eventually left.

Inside the closet all that time, Aramis lived his own private hell. He realized that he should've listened to his friends and was terrified of what Treville would do to him now. Would he be thrown off the police force? If so, his life would be over.

Once the men were gone, Treville walked by the closet door and smacked it hard with his elbow before leaving the room without letting Aramis out.

Aramis jumped, and was surprised when the door wasn't opened. He waited, but heard nothing but silence. "Captain?"

Nothing.

Aramis waited to see if Treville would open the door, but there was no sound at all on the other side so he finally pulled out his wallet and used a credit card to open it. He peeked his head out and found the room empty, so he quickly left and looked for his friends. When he found them gone, he grabbed his phone and hid under his desk.

There were eight text messages, beginning with 'You're dead meat!' He quickly opened a group text between the three of them.

 _Aramis: OMG_

 _Porthos: Aramis!_

 _Athos: Told you so_

 _Aramis: Where are you_

 _Porthos: Waiting for you in Athos' car_

 _Aramis: Where's Treville_

 _Athos: He left. Come outside right now!_

Aramis poked his head up from under his desk before standing and quickly leaving the precinct. He spotted Athos' black Cadillac and ran over, jumping into the back seat. "What am I gonna do?!" he exclaimed.

Athos shifted into 'drive' and hit the gas. "First of all, calm down."

"Calm down?!" said Aramis. "Treville sat on a whoopee cushion—provided by _me_ —in front of the governor and the head of the state police!"

Porthos suddenly started laughing, his guffaw filling the entire car.

Aramis reached around the seat to punch his arm. "Stop it! I may've just lost my career!"

Porthos' laughter instantly stopped. "Sorry. If he fires you, I'll quit, and so will Athos."

"No one is quitting because Treville won't fire you," said Athos as he turned down the road.

Aramis looked at him with a spark of hope. "Really?"

"We're his best detectives," Athos reminded him. "We work together like extensions of one body and we always solve our cases. He can't afford to lose _any_ of us."

Aramis nodded, feeling relieved.

"That doesn't mean that he won't punish you though," Athos went on. "Severely."

Aramis sighed.

Athos pulled up at the local mall and they went inside, knowing that it was the least likely place for Captain Treville to have gone. Porthos dragged them into the arcade where they shot zombies for a while and then he dragged them into Hot Topic, where he bought a keychain Pusheen plush.

"Who is that for?" Aramis asked.

Porthos handed it to him. "It's for Adele."

Aramis chuckled as he took it. "She'll love it."

Suppertime eventually came and they picked up a pizza, fries, and a six-pack of beer. Athos drove them back to the precinct so they could pick up their vehicles, and Aramis got into his bright red Camaro and patted the dashboard. "I have a gift for you, Adele, from Porthos." He chuckled as he hung the Pusheen from his rearview mirror before pulling out behind Porthos' SUV.

The three of them drove to Aramis' place since it was the biggest and had the best tv, and they ate in front of 'The Force Awakens'. The movie did wonders for taking Aramis' mind off the situation, but he grew nervous again after it was over.

Porthos watched as Aramis suddenly dialed his phone and held it to his ear. "Whozzat?"

"The captain," Aramis answered, wondering why he hadn't thought of calling to apologize earlier.

Athos and Porthos watched, but Treville never picked it up.

"Voicemail," Aramis told them. He waited for the beep before saying, "Captain? It's Aramis…I guess you'll know that anyway from the missed call, not to mention the sound of my voice, but…I'm so sorry, I had no idea that the governor and the head of the state police would be there when you sat on…well I guess I should shut up now. See you tomorrow…I hope?" He hung up the phone and looked at the others. "I'm dead meat."

TBC


	2. I Think He's Mad

Aramis didn't get much sleep that night, and he walked into the office with trepidation the next morning. Treville wasn't there, and Aramis looked at his two friends. "Hear anything?"

They both shook their heads.

Aramis sighed and sat down, feeling butterflies in his stomach.

They waited and waited, but Treville still hadn't come in an hour later.

"Maybe he had an appointment," Porthos said.

Aramis stood and went into Treville's office to look at his calendar. It was empty. "There's nothing on it," he said, sinking into his chair again. He ran his hands through his hair and managed to stick it up in all directions. The anxious fluttering in his stomach turned painful and he put his elbows on his desk and dropped his face into his hands. "God, help me," he prayed. "I'm gonna have a heart attack!"

Porthos went over and sat on the corner of his friend's desk, reaching down to squeeze his shoulder. "Calm down."

Aramis sighed. "I love this job. I _need_ this job!"

Suddenly, without warning, Captain Treville came barreling around the corner in the hall and threw the door open. "ARAMIS!" he barked.

Aramis was so startled that he jumped in his chair and yanked his head up so fast that he nearly gave himself whiplash.

"COFFEE!" Treville exclaimed.

Aramis quickly stood on shaking legs and headed over to the pot on the table in the corner.

"Not _that_ crap," Treville said. "The real stuff, and I don't mean Dunkin Donuts."

Starbuck's, then. Aramis picked up his keys, his shaky hands fumbling and dropping them. When he bent to pick them up, he dropped his phone and grabbed them both before flying out the door and disappearing.

Athos and Porthos stared at Treville as he went into his office without a word and slammed the door.

"I think he's mad," said Porthos.

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Aramis jumped into his camaro and started it up, taking a moment to catch his breath. He listened to the purr of the engine and let it calm his nerves before he shifted into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. The fact that Treville was speaking to him—even though he was shouting—was a good sign, at least.

It appeared obvious that Athos was right: Treville intended to punish him. Sending him to Starbuck's a few miles away even though Dunkin Donuts was right across the street was proof of that, and Aramis wondered what else he would be forced to do. At least being Treville's slave for a while was worth not losing his job.

Aramis yawned as he turned a corner and approached a stop light. It turned green as he reached it and he proceeded through...but out the corner of his eye through his door's window, he saw a car flying towards him. He turned to look at it in shock, and the last thing he heard was the screech of brakes.

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Athos and Porthos looked up when they heard someone running down the hall, and watched as a uniformed patrolman threw their door open. "Aramis has been in a bad accident!" he exclaimed.

Both men jumped to their feet. "What?!" Porthos exclaimed.

"How bad?!" Athos asked.

"Bad," said the cop. "Paramedics just arrived on scene and recognized his car. They said that the driver's side was hit and Aramis is still inside!"

Athos and Porthos grabbed their phones and followed him, before Athos thought of telling Treville and stopped to turn around, which had him smacking right into their captain.

Treville grabbed Athos by the arm before he could trip them both and they continued on, piling into the officer's patrol car and speeding down the street with the lights and siren blaring.

None of the three men knew what to say, each of them imagining the worst. If he'd really been hit on the driver's side, Aramis could be dead.

Two streets away from Starbuck's, they came upon the scene. Aramis' beloved camaro was destroyed, indeed hit on the driver's side by a bright yellow mustang. Paramedics and firemen were clustered around the wreck, and just as the detectives climbed out of the patrol car, Aramis was pulled out with a collar around his neck and placed on a backboard. Blood from a head wound had streamed down the left side of his face and he wasn't moving. His eyes were closed in unconsciousness, and his left arm hung lifelessly off the side of the gurney.

The sight struck them all with terror.

"Aramis!" a horrified Porthos exclaimed. "Aramis!"

Athos and Treville had to forcefully hold him back before he could get in the way of the medics. They watched in fear as an oxygen mask was placed over Aramis' face and he was wheeled over to the ambulance and loaded inside.

Porthos broke free and ran over. "Wait!" he shouted. "I'm goin' with 'im!"

The paramedics knew Porthos and let him in, and the ambulance quickly drove away, sirens blaring.

Athos and Treville looked at each other, chests heaving with the reaction of it all. Over Treville's shoulder, Athos suddenly spotted a young man pacing agitatedly on the sidewalk. He had fresh cuts on his face and Athos deduced that he was the owner of the mustang. He stalked over and grabbed him by the arm. "What did you _do_?!" he asked, his voice sounding deadly.

"I'm sorry!" the man exclaimed. "I was in a hurry and thought the light would stay yellow longer than it did!"

"You ran a red light?!" Athos exclaimed.

"Athos!" called Treville. "Let's go!"

Athos glared at the young men for a few seconds more before letting go of his arm and turning to head back to the patrol car.

"Was that the driver?" Treville asked.

"Yes," said Athos. "He ran a red light!"

Treville scrubbed a hand down his face and shook his head with a heavy sigh.

They again got into the patrolman's cruiser and he drove off, but other cars eventually stopped moving out of the way to let them pass, and they realized that the traffic was stopped because of construction up ahead. It took ten minutes out of their way to get back on the road to the hospital, and they were both full of anxiety by the time they arrived.

Dashing into the hospital, they found Porthos pacing in the waiting room. "What took you so long?!" he exclaimed. "They whisked Aramis into surgery!"

"For what?!" asked Treville.

"His oxygen level and blood pressure kept dropping in the ambulance!" Porthos said, wringing his hands.

All three of them knew what that meant; either internal bleeding or shock.

"Was he conscious at all?" Athos demanded.

"No," Porthos answered. "And his head was bleedin' everywhere...Athos, his face got whiter and whiter every minute..." He paused to shake his head. "It's bad," he continued, his voice shaking. "It's _really_ bad..."

The two friends were so worried for Aramis that neither of them noticed the expression on Treville's face.

 _I shouldn't have sent him for coffee…_

TBC


	3. Lucky?

More than an hour passed before Dr. Harris—who knew them very well—finally came to speak to them.

"Aramis was very lucky, considering," he told them. "He has three cracked ribs on the left and a collapsed lung, but his spleen remains intact. The left side of his body is purple from ribs to knee, but neither his hip, pelvis, or leg were broken."

"His lung collapsed?!" Porthos exclaimed.

The doctor nodded. "We inserted a chest tube to help it re-inflate. He also has a concussion, but it's minor. I'm betting on whiplash, but he needs to be conscious before I can confirm that. As I said, he was very lucky; that accident could have killed him."

"When can we see him?" asked Treville.

"He's in recovery right now," the doctor answered. "We'll keep him there for a couple of hours to ensure that the anesthesia doesn't cause any complications combined with the concussion, and take him down to the ICU after."

"A couple of _hours_ ," Porthos moaned.

"I'm sorry," said Harris. "Anesthesia with a concussion is dangerous. We gave him the minimum amount, not wanting to risk him waking during the chest tube insertion. He needs to be watched very carefully. If there's any more news, I'll let you know."

The three friends nodded, watching Dr. Harris walk away...back to Aramis, where they wished they were going themselves.

The two hours passed agonizingly slow, and five minutes past the mark, Porthos thought he was about to lose his mind.

"Calm down," said Treville.

"It's been more than two hours!" Porthos said. "What if something happened to Aramis and that's why they haven't come for us yet?"

Athos was standing against the wall with his arms crossed, and he walked the few steps over to his friend and took his arm. "This is Aramis, Porthos. No matter what happens to him, he always ends up _fine_."

Porthos opened his mouth to say, 'One day he might not', but the look in Athos' eyes was so sure...so _desperately_ sure, as if he were trying to convince himself of the same thing.

Porthos closed his mouth.

Five minutes later, Dr. Harris finally appeared and they followed him to a room in the ICU where Aramis lay. He was clothed in a hospital gown and propped partially upright in the bed to aid his breathing, with an oxygen cannula under his nose. His face was very pale and there was a white bandage near his hairline on the left side of his forehead. The chest tube wasn't visible, as the blankets covering him succeeded in hiding it.

Aramis' eyes were still closed in unconsciousness.

The three men stared at their friend with worry. "Does that thing tell you when he might wake up?" Porthos asked, gesturing to the wires from a lead attached to Aramis' scalp to measure brain function.

"His brain activity is normal," said the doctor. "I imagine he'll regain consciousness soon."

"Painkillers?" Athos asked, looking at the IV needle in their friend's hand.

Dr. Harris nodded. "I gave him a shot of morphine," he said. "A small dose for now, so it won't complicate his unconscious state. Once he wakes, I'll give him more."

"Morphine," said Athos, with a sigh. "You know what will happen, then."

The doctor nodded, knowing well the effect that morphine had on Aramis. He'd be out-of-it, confused, and lethargic…with the latter being a good thing considering his injured ribs.

Porthos walked over and carefully moved the blankets to pick up one of Aramis' hands. "He's so cold," he commented.

"He went into shock in the ambulance after his lung collapsed," the doctor told them. "Keep him covered."

Porthos gently placed his friend's hand back under the blankets and adjusted them.

"What's the prognosis?" Treville asked.

"He'll make a full recovery," Harris said. "But with the cracked ribs, it won't be fast."

Everyone sighed at that before pulling up chairs and sitting down.

If asked, all three men would say that it was the longest day of their lives as they waited for their injured fried to regain consciousness. When not staring at his pale face, they were watching the screens and listening to the heart monitor or oxygen machine, and quizzing the nurses on his condition every time they came in to check on him.

Aramis was so still that when he suddenly twitched, they all nearly jumped.

"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed, standing up.

A nurse came in as if she'd been waiting for something to happen, and fussed over her patient before hitting the call button and telling the nurse who came in to fetch the doctor.

"Is he all right?" Porthos nervously asked.

"He may be waking," the nurse replied. "Please remain calm or you may be forced to leave the room."

Porthos shut up.

Aramis twitched again, moving his head slightly but making no sound.

Dr. Harris came in and strode over to Aramis without a word, taking a penlight out of his pocket and lifting one of Aramis' eyelids and then the other, shining the light to see how his pupils reacted. When his patient tried to close his eye against the light, he let go and grasped his shoulder. "Aramis," he said. "It's Dr. Harris. You're in the hospital after a car accident but you're going to be fine. Your friends are here and they'd like to see you with your eyes open."

Aramis' eyes remained closed but they weakly fluttered. It was a few seconds later when he suddenly moaned very softly.

Dr. Harris took a syringe out of his pocket and injected its contents into the IV port. "An anti-nausea drug," he told the others. "Between the concussion and the anesthesia, his stomach won't be a happy place."

"Morphine?" Porthos asked.

"I need to wait until he's fully conscious for that," said Harris. "There's some in his system but I need to see how he breathes while awake before I give him anymore. It can depress the respiratory system and his collapsed lung won't be able to handle that."

Another quiet moan came from Aramis and he moved his head, eyebrows furrowing as he became more and more aware of the pain.

"Aramis," said Porthos, putting a hand on his arm through the blanket. "Wake up; we've been waiting for hours!"

Aramis turned his head towards him at the sound of his voice, and finally, his eyes opened slightly.

Everyone smiled at him with relief.

Aramis blinked weakly, before taking a breath to say, "What?" Immediately after, his eyes opened wider and he reached towards the left side of his chest.

Athos and Porthos were both on his left, and they stood and grabbed his arm before he could dislodge the tube.

Dr. Harris ran around the bed. "Be careful with him!" he exclaimed.

Treville grabbed Aramis' other arm and held it out of the way as the doctor pulled the blanket down and moved an area of his patient's untied hospital gown to make sure the tube was still in place. All three of them got a perfect view of Aramis' ribs: the skin all down his side was purple and black with severe bruising, and the tube protruded grotesquely from the middle of it.

Effects of the concussion and anesthesia were making Aramis too disoriented and confused to understand the pain and awful sensation of the tube inside his chest. He was breathing heavily, _too_ heavily for his body to handle, and an alarm abruptly sounded as his oxygen level dropped.

Dr. Harris reached behind the bed to grab an oxygen mask; pulling the cannula away from his patient and putting the mask over his mouth and nose instead. "Hold this here!" he said.

Athos put his hand over the oxygen mask so Aramis' couldn't shake it off his face.

The doctor took a second syringe and injected morphine into Aramis' IV port, before replacing the blankets and putting his hand on his patient's shoulder again. "Calm down, _right now_."

Aramis was making sounds of distress as his fast breathing aggravated his collapsed lung and shifted the tube, causing very sharp pain and making him feel as if he couldn't inhale. His head was throbbing and his vision was hazy from the concussion and anesthesia, adding to his confusion. As the morphine spread through his bloodstream, his body suddenly felt as if the gravity had changed and he was being pressed to the bed. It took a moment for that to wear off and he suddenly realized that there was a hand on the side of his face. He tried to focus on the person it belonged to without much success.

"Aramis," said Porthos, bringing his face close to his friend's. "I know the tube is uncomfortable, but you gotta stop movin'. Stay still, come on."

Slowly, the words penetrated the confused fog in Aramis' brain, and as the morphine eased some of the pain, he began to relax.

"That's better," Porthos said with a smile, hand still cupping his face. The smile vanished when Aramis' eyes suddenly closed. "Hey, none of that, now!" he said.

Dr. Harris put a hand on Porthos' shoulder to move him away from Aramis, and he quickly examined him. "He's conscious; let him get his bearings...or try to, anyway." He looked at Athos. "You can let go now."

Athos took his hand away from the oxygen mask and was relieved when Aramis didn't try to remove it.

The four men quietly watched Aramis as he calmed down, and they were relieved when they saw the lines of pain in his face lessen.

Aramis' eyes stayed closed until Porthos eventually prodded him again.

"Hey, don't even think about sleepin'," he said. "We've been waitin' to talk to you for hours!"

Aramis slowly opened his eyes at that, where they remained half-lidded. "What?" His voice was very weak.

"Earlier today, you were involved in a serious car accident," said Athos, putting a hand on his injured friend's shoulder.

Aramis said nothing for a minute, as if trying to figure out the words. Morphine always discombobulated him. "I was?" he whispered.

"Yes, and you're badly hurt, so you must keep still," Athos told him.

"Oh," Aramis mumbled. His eyes slid shut and his head lolled a little to the side.

The sight sent a jolt of fear through them.

"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed.

They needn't have feared, as the heart monitor showed that he was alive. "He's out again," said the doctor. "Not abnormal, considering."

Porthos sighed heavily, brushing the hair off Aramis' forehead before turning his head to look at the others.

Athos was obviously upset, which wasn't an emotion that he often showed to the outside world.

Treville had sat back down with a look of devastation.

Athos followed Porthos' gaze and frowned. "Captain?"

Treville shook his head. "This is my fault. I was trying to get revenge for the whoop—for what he did to me yesterday. I was going to run him ragged all day and drive him crazy; scare him a little." He sighed. "My plan backfired."

"Oh, he was _scared_ ," said Porthos. "He thought you were gonna fire 'im."

Treville looked up. "Fire him? Fire Aramis? I'd sooner fire myself! He's the department's best marksman...he has the sharpest mind..." He shook his head. "All the cold-cases he's solved...the three of you together. I would be the biggest fool to break up your team. Besides..." He sighed. "He's like a son to me. All three of you are." He looked at Aramis again, unconscious in the bed. "And I almost killed him over something so petty!" He sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"You couldn't have known what would happen," said Athos. "The other driver gets the blame for this, not you."

Treville sighed again, doubting that he'd ever let himself believe that…

TBC


	4. That's Cool

Aramis was in and out of consciousness for the rest of the day and they weren't allowed to sit with him overnight. The three men stayed in the waiting room and didn't sleep much, but they were allowed to peek in on Aramis every so often. The next morning, they were all back in his room sitting around his bed, happy to see that the oxygen mask had been replaced with the nasal cannula again.

Dr. Harris came often to check his condition, using a stethoscope to listen to his collapsed lung each time. "I can remove the tube today," he eventually said.

"Already?" Treville said, with surprise.

The doctor nodded. "The air filling the space outside his lung wasn't an excessive amount, because the hole that let the air out was small. The tube did the job well; he has breath sounds in this side now. Chest tubes carry an extreme risk of infection, so the sooner we can get it out, the better."

They were relieved to hear that. "Think it'll be before he wakes?" Porthos asked.

Harris shook his head. "Hopefully he'll wake before that," he said, shining his penlight into his patient's eyes. "The longer he's unconscious, the longer his recovery will be."

Aramis was out cold until noon before Porthos' repeated attempts to wake him finally worked. He groaned and tried to lift a hand to whack Porthos away, but he was too weak to lift his arm very high. "Why you wake me," he slurred.

"You have a concussion, Aramis, you need to wake up," Porthos told him. "Open your eyes."

"And don't move anything else," Athos said.

It took a few more seconds, but Aramis finally did, blinking blearily.

"How's the pain?" Treville asked, dreading the answer.

"Painful," Aramis whispered. He suddenly shifted slightly with a wince. "What...what's stabbin' me?"

Porthos clamped a hand on his arm. "A chest tube, to help reinflate your lung."

Aramis slowly turned his head to the left, with a wince. "A what?"

"A chest tube," Athos told him. "You cracked three ribs and your lung collapsed."

Aramis' breathing increased. "There's a...tube…in my...lung?"

Treville stood and put both hands on his shoulders. "Yes. Stay calm; you'll only hurt yourself by panicking."

Aramis blinked his unfocused gaze on him. "That's...cool," he whispered. "A tube. Wow."

All three of them looked at each other, realizing that they should've expected that considering the bizarre way that morphine affected him.

Treville gave him a slight smile—which wasn't easy with the guilt that he felt—and let go. "Just rest," he said.

"And stay awake," Porthos added.

Aramis said nothing for a while, the effects of the concussion and morphine working together to keep him disoriented. He'd blink blearily for a minute, before letting his eyes slip closed. Porthos would nudge him before he had a chance to fall asleep, and the cycle would repeat.

"I'm tired," he mumbled at one point.

"I'm sure you are," Porthos answered, sympathetically. "But you have a concussion and need to stay awake."

"Oh," Aramis answered, closing his eyes.

Porthos nudged him. "Aramis."

"Mmm."

"Open your eyes."

"No."

Athos reached over and squeezed his arm. "Aramis," he said, sternly. "You can't sleep."

"But I'm tired."

"You're also concussed," said Athos.

"I am?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

They waited, but his eyes remained closed, so Porthos nudged him again.

"Stoppit," Aramis slurred.

"Open your eyes," said Porthos.

Aramis obeyed, blinking tiredly. "What happened to me?" he suddenly asked.

Treville inwardly sighed, not wanting to hear the details again.

"Someone ran a red light and hit you," Athos told him.

"With what?" Aramis asked.

"A mustang," Porthos answered.

It seemed to take a minute for Aramis to understand, and he frowned. "Was I walking?"

"No," Athos answered.

Aramis' eyes opened a little wider. "My car?"

The image of the mangled Camaro filled everyone's minds.

Still blaming himself, Treville felt it his responsibility to tell him. "It was destroyed, Aramis, I'm so sorry."

Aramis just stared at him for a few seconds, as if he'd spoken another language. "What!" he finally exclaimed, breathlessly.

All three men latched onto him.

"Take it easy," said Athos. "It's just a car and it saved your life."

"Just a car?" Aramis echoed. " _Just_ a car?!"

Before they could say anything else, Dr. Harris walked in. "The OR is free now, a surgery was canceled." Without saying anything to his patient, he injected something into his IV and they watched as Aramis calmed right down and his eyes slid shut. "Go back to the waiting room; I'll let you know when he's out."

The whole thing happened so fast that the three men were left blinking for a moment before they turned around and obeyed.

Once in the waiting room, Porthos sighed. "He loved that car." He then looked at Treville as if regretting his words, not wanting to make him feel even worse about the situation.

Treville sighed.

Athos looked from one to the other of them. "Why don't we all leave for a few minutes...take a walk, get some fresh air, even go home and change clothes. After they're done he'll be in recovery for a while anyway, so we won't be able to see him for at least two hours."

The others knew that he was right, and they all reluctantly left...before realizing that no one had a car, after having been dropped off at the hospital by the patrolman the day before. They hailed a cab that took them back to the precinct so they could get their vehicles, and it hit them all hard to see all of their cars in their spots with Aramis' being empty.

Within an hour, they were all back in the waiting room, and Dr. Harris came back not long after.

"Aramis did fine," he said. "The tube is out but his lung will be weak for a while. He shouldn't be in the recovery room for as long this time."

They were relieved to hear that, and a little more than an hour later, they were again sitting around their friend's bed. The oxygen mask was back and Aramis' face looked positively pasty. It was another hour before he woke, and the first thing he saw wasn't one of his friends...

...it was the Pusheen that Porthos had bought him to hang from his rearview mirror.

"Adele," Aramis moaned to the four-inch plush that sat on the bed's swivel table. "Adele!"

"Pusheen," Porthos corrected. "To remember Adele by."

Aramis weakly raised a hand to touch it but was too uncoordinated, so Porthos picked it up and placed it on his chest.

Aramis, still discombobulated from the anesthesia, concussion, and morphine, petted it as his eyes filled with tears. "There will never be another car like Adele!" he said.

"Yes there will," said Treville. "You can get another one just like it."

"It won't be the same!"

"It can be _exactly_ the same," said Athos.

Aramis closed his eyes and pulled Pusheen closer, shoving it under his chin and continuing to pet it. If not for the circumstances, it would've been hilarious.

Aramis was in and out of awareness for a while as the anesthesia wore off, and it was quiet in the room with only the sound of the oxygen machine. The ICU nurses had turned off the beeping of the heart monitor, to their relief, since they could observe it from a station outside the room.

Therefore, when footsteps sounded and stopped at the door, everyone turned to see who it was.

"You!" said Athos.

It was the driver of the mustang that had hit Aramis. "I wanted to see how he was," he said.

Athos was surprised at the guy's nerve, and was speechless for a moment.

Porthos stood from his chair, stalked over, and pulled him into the room. "How would _you_ be if you had a plastic tube shoved into your collapsed lung?" He propelled him over to Aramis' bed so he could see him closer. " _That's_ how!"

The young man looked mortified. "I'm so sorry!"

Treville frowned. "This is the ICU…how did you get in here?"

"I…told them that I'm his brother," said the man, with a shrug. "Look, when I watched the news this morning, I was shocked to hear them say that one of the NYPD's top detectives was nearly killed in a car accident and see a video of my car and his. I had no idea that I'd hit a cop! I had a really important job interview that I was gonna be late for, so I didn't slow down at the yellow light." He sighed. "And it backfired because I totaled my car, almost killed him, _and_ lost the job."

"We'll hire you."

Everyone turned to look at Aramis, whose eyes were half-open. "Give 'im a job, cap'n," he slurred.

Athos, Porthos, and Treville stared at him in shock.

"You don't know what you're sayin', Aramis," said Porthos. "That's the drugs talkin'. Or the anesthesia. Or the concussion," he said, throwing a glare at the newcomer.

Aramis shook his head. "He already works for the cap'n."

Treville frowned. "What?"

"You set this up," Aramis said, lifting one hand and moving it as if to indicate himself. "Arranged an accident. I didn't know the whoople…waffle…woofie…cushion thing would make you _that_ mad."

Treville was stunned. "What! Are you out of your mind?! You think I'd try to _kill_ you?!"

Aramis shook his head, closing his eyes with grief. " _He_ did it. He killed Adele and now I only have Pusheen to remember her by!"

The young man's eyes grew huge. "What?! Who's Adele?!"

"His car," Porthos told him. "He named it. What's _your_ name, anyway?"

"D'Artagnan."

"Just 'd'Artagnan'?"

"Charles d'Artagnan," said the man. "But I go by just d'Artagnan because I don't like Charles."

"Well, Just d'Artagnan," said Aramis. "You owe an apology."

"I'm so sorry," d'Artagnan replied.

"Not to me," Aramis said. "To _her._ " With that, he held up Pusheen.

D'Artagnan blinked and automatically barked a laugh, not understanding. He quickly closed his mouth at the glares sent his way. "I'm sorry, Pusheen the Cat."

Aramis' arm dropped down as if he hadn't the strength to hold it up. "That's better. You're hired." With that, his eyes slid shut and he was out again.

D'Artagnan looked around, feeling awkward. "Um…well it was nice meeting you all. I'm glad that he seems…okay?…um, right. Goodbye!" With that, he quickly left.

TBC


	5. Pain

The day passed much like the day before. Aramis' concussion made his brain hold onto the effects of the anesthesia longer than a healthy patient, especially considering that he'd been put under twice in as many days. When he finally woke again, he seemed a little more alert.

"What happened?" Aramis asked.

"You were in a serious car accident," said Athos.

Aramis blinked. "Oh." He looked around a little before seeing the Pusheen on the swivel table. He took a few breaths and realized that the stabbing was no longer in his lung. It hurt—a lot—but was easier to bear. "The tube is gone?"

"Yes," said Treville, with relief.

Aramis looked towards the door with a frown.

"What's wrong?" Porthos asked.

"Someone else was here?"

"The driver who hit you," said Athos. "Charles d'Artagnan. He came to see how you were."

"That was nice," said Aramis. He closed his eyes again, took a deeper breath, and winced. "Owww." He reached his hand towards his left side.

Porthos grabbed it. "Your ribs are cracked, don't touch."

Aramis halted and took another deeper breath. "Oh, that hurts!"

"Breathe lightly," Athos scolded.

But Aramis squeezed his eyes shut, the pain not _letting_ him breathe lightly, and not breathing lightly was making the pain worse. The throbbing in Aramis' head increased and he lifted a hand to it with a groan.

"It's not time for more morphine yet," Treville remarked to Athos. He sat on the right side of the bed and took hold of Aramis' arms. "Aramis, look at me…you're increasing your own pain; you need to slow down your breathing."

Now that Aramis was more coherent, he tried, knowing that the captain was right. It wasn't easy and it took a while, but he eventually managed. Breathing easier didn't help his head though, and he kept his hand over his eyes, wincing. "Ooooh," he moaned. "Everything's spinning."

"Just take it easy," Treville said. "They'll have more morphine for you soon."

Aramis exhaled a ragged breath, and to everyone's dismay, suddenly coughed. He gasped from the pain that it caused, and coughed again.

"That can't be good!" said Porthos. He hit the call button for a nurse, who quickly came into the room. She was carrying a pillow, and she handed it to Athos and hit the button to raise the head of the bed higher before taking it back and holding it against Aramis' left side.

"Coughing is normal with a lung injury," she exclaimed. "It's necessary, even, because shallow breathing can make fluid accumulate. Holding a pillow against his injured side will brace his ribs and decrease the pain."

Aramis tried to hold the coughing in.

"Don't do that," the nurse scolded. "You need to clear your lung in order to avoid pneumonia. When you have to cough, do it."

"Even though his lung was collapsed yesterday?!" exclaimed Porthos. "Can't that collapse it again?!"

"Believe it or not, that's not how it works," said the nurse.

Aramis couldn't hold it in for long and coughed again, his face losing all traces of color.

Porthos grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it in support.

"Hold this," the nurse told Treville, motioning to the pillow. "Press it to his side." Once he took over, she reached behind the bed and grabbed the oxygen mask, moving the nasal cannula and putting that over his face instead.

Aramis closed his eyes and held his hand over it, hoping that it would somehow ease his coughing. It helped, and the tension in Aramis' body eventually lessened a little.

"When is his next morphine dose?" Athos asked.

"About a half-hour from now," the nurse answered.

"Will thirty minutes really make a difference?" Porthos asked. "Does he really have to wait?"

"In light of the concussion, it's not wise to overlap an opioid," she told them. "Nevermind the fact that morphine can depress the respiratory system, which is even more of a risk for him right now." She patted Aramis' arm. "I'll bring it to you in exactly twenty-five minutes, I promise."

Aramis opened his eyes slightly and gave her a pale smile.

The nurse left and Treville suddenly realized that he was still pressing the pillow to Aramis' side. He eased off on the pressure, leaving the pillow where it was so it would be right there the next time Aramis needed it.

Aramis suddenly closed his eyes tightly, trying not to wince.

"Don't try to hide how you feel," Athos told him, squeezing his other shoulder. "It's only us here and we know you're in pain."

Aramis tried to hold it in anyway, but he couldn't and gave a soft groan.

Treville grabbed one of Aramis' cold hands as guilt overwhelmed him again. "I'm so sorry, son. I am so, so sorry."

Aramis said nothing as he dealt with the pain, and to their relief, the flare-up seemed to lessen a little a minute later and he tiredly opened his eyes.

"Do you think you can eat, Aramis?" Porthos suddenly asked him. "You haven't had anything since you've been here. This is the first real time that you've been coherent and they didn't want your concussion to make you throw up."

Aramis said nothing, appearing unsure.

"How's your stomach feel?" Treville asked. "I can go get you some of that soup you like from the deli."

"Maybe we should ask the doctor first," Athos suggested. "His ribs won't be able to handle a rebelling stomach."

They all saw the wisdom in that and asked the nurse to page Dr. Harris. He was there in less than ten minutes and strode in with a look of relief to see coherence in his patient's eyes.

"Aramis!" he said. "It's good to see you alert. How's the pain?"

"He's in a lot of it," Porthos told him.

"Morphine coming up any minute," he answered. He did a quick exam and noticed the pillow. "You've been coughing?"

Aramis nodded his aching head.

"Good," said the doctor. "I know it hurts, but it's necessary."

"Can he eat, doc?" Porthos asked. "He hasn't had a single bite since before the accident yesterday morning."

"The night before," Aramis suddenly said.

The other three were surprised to hear that, and they each realized why; Aramis had been so nervous over possibly being fired that he hadn't eaten breakfast.

"Are you nauseated?" the doctor asked, removing the oxygen mask and replacing it with the nasal cannula again.

"A little," Aramis whispered.

The doctor took a syringe out of his pocket. "I anticipated that. This will help, and then maybe we can get you some soup if you're willing to try it. If not, we can just keep letting _that_ give you nutrients," he said, pointing to one of the IVs. He injected the drug into the IV port, and in less than a minute, a little bit of color came back into Aramis' face.

"I'll go get the soup," said Treville. Without waiting for an answer, he left.

"How long will he be here, doc?" Porthos suddenly asked.

The doctor made a face as he thought about it. "Another day or two...it depends. I'll want him off the oxygen, eating, and not losing consciousness anymore first, obviously! He needs someone to stay with him 24/7 for a while."

"That's no problem," Porthos said. "We won't be away from him any further than his kitchen or bathroom."

Dr. Harris nodded, knowing how close they were.

The nurse suddenly came into the room, brandishing the syringe. "Twenty-five minutes, just as I promised!"

Aramis gave her another pale smile. "Bless you."

She smiled back and shot the contents into the IV before patting him on the shoulder and leaving the room.

The transformation took less than a minute. Relief from much of the pain had Aramis smiling dopily at them. "That's better," he said.

The others chuckled.

Treville returned quickly with the chicken soup from Aramis' favorite Italian deli, and all three of them realized that Aramis would only spill it everywhere if he attempted to feed himself in his drugged state.

Porthos took the spoon and fed him just some broth first so they could see how it affected his stomach.

"The owners were shocked and very concerned for you," Treville told Aramis. "They gave me the soup free and promised to send over a whole pot of it when you get out of the hospital."

"Such nice people," said Aramis, his words slurring as he slurped more broth off the spoon. It sat in his stomach just fine, so he let Porthos continue to feed it to him.

Porthos went slowly, knowing that Aramis' stomach could easily—and quickly—decide that it didn't want anything in it.

Aramis ate half of it before Treville unwrapped a piece of Italian bread that was still hot from the oven. "Can you manage any bites of this?" he asked.

"Ooooooh!" Aramis loopily exclaimed. "Yes!"

Porthos smiled. "We know you want it, but how does your stomach actually feel? Think for a minute. If you get sick, that'll really hurt your ribs."

"Yes, Aramis," said the doctor. "Think."

Aramis obediently waited for a moment. "It's fine."

The others all hoped that the anti-nausea drug would keep the food in his stomach as Treville cut it into pieces and gave him one on a fork.

Aramis aimed it at his mouth but hit one cheek instead. He tried again and didn't miss. By the time he was full, he'd eaten the whole piece of bread and most of the soup.

"You did good, Aramis," Porthos told him.

"Mmm," Aramis agreed, eyes closed. He was asleep not long after.

Dr. Harris listened to his patient's lung with a stethoscope before looking at them. "In the morning, we'll do a test to ensure that his lung is doing well and then we'll move him to a regular room," he whispered.

They all breathed a sigh of relief at that.

"Are there any lasting effects that we should know about?" Treville quietly asked.

"Good question," said the doctor. "Collapsed lungs usually heal without trouble, but with the cracked ribs, he'll have a lot of pain. He may become short of breath, but it'll be hard to know if it's literally from his lung of because of the pain. He has a lot of checkup appointments in the near future."

The others all nodded.

"Any form of exercise is obviously out of the question," Harris said. "Complete rest is what he needs. From bed to the bathroom is the limit right now."

"What about from bed to the couch?" Porthos asked, knowing that Aramis would quickly get bored if stuck in his bedroom for so long.

The doctor sighed. "In light of his ribs being cracked and not fully broken through, if you both _carefully_ help him get there, he should be all right...but don't let him sit himself up, or try to stand by himself. The motion of doing so will be too painful and will risk him falling and breaking the ribs through. He's weak, plus the concussion can make him dizzy. The day he goes home from the hospital, keep him in bed. It'll be easier to evaluate his condition once he's somewhat mobile and not mentally in space from the drugs."

'Mentally in space' described Aramis perfectly when he was doped on morphine, and it would've been funny if he wasn't hurt so badly…

TBC


	6. Getting Better

To everyone's relief, Aramis slept for five straight hours before waking. It was his longest sleep so far that wasn't influenced by unconsciousness, but it wasn't enough, as he woke very groggy and very loopy from the drugs.

"I wan' somethin'," he slurred, eyes half-closed.

"Anything," said Treville, prepared to spend a fortune if he had to, in order to alleviate some of his guilt.

"Dunno," was Aramis' answer. His eyes closed and stayed that way.

The others were quiet, assuming that he'd fallen back to sleep, but Aramis suddenly spoke again a moment later.

"Fritos."

Treville stood. "I'll get them."

"Cheetos too."

Treville stopped. "Anything else?"

Aramis thought for a moment. "Fritos," he repeated.

Treville nodded and headed for the door.

"And Cheetos."

"Got it," said Treville.

"How are you feeling, Aramis?" Athos asked.

"Mmm," Aramis answered, eyes closed again.

Porthos reached over and fixed the blankets covering him. "Stay awake if you want your munchies!" he said with a chuckle.

Aramis gave no answer, but he blinked his eyes open when Treville came back with a tray laden with coffee and more snacks than what Aramis had asked for. He set it down on the counter before heading to Aramis' bed and moving the swivel table in front of him before laying a paper plate on it and pouring on the mini-bags of Fritos and Cheetos. He then picked up each of Aramis' hands and wiped them both with sanitizing wipes, not wanting their injured friend to ingest any dangerous hospital germs.

Aramis blinked at the plate. "Whaz 'is?" he slurred.

"The Fritos and Cheetos that you asked for," said Treville.

"I did?"

"Yes," Treville said with a slight smile.

"Oh," Aramis answered. He picked up a Frito and ate it. "Mmm." The Pusheen plush was sitting beside the plate, so he picked up another Frito and tried to feed it to her.

At the sight, Porthos nearly choked on his coffee.

When Aramis realized that Pusheen wasn't real enough to eat, he ate the Frito himself. "Izzat coffee?" he mumbled.

Treville nodded. "Yes, but I brought you a bottle of water. I don't think caffeine is wise in your state."

Aramis gave him such a look of hurt that Treville quickly changed his mind.

"Maybe just a little," Treville told him. There was a sink near the counter with tiny cups, so he grabbed one and took his untouched coffee and poured some into the cup. He went over to Aramis and held it to his lips. "It's hot, just sip it."

Aramis obeyed, and even though he preferred more milk and sugar than Treville had in it, he closed his eyes with pleasure. "Thank you," he said, once finished.

Treville patted his arm.

The day passed quietly, with Aramis sleeping or mumbling loopily. He ate more soup for supper, and once it got too late, the men were again told that they had to leave.

"They ain't throwin' me out once he's out of the ICU," Porthos grumbled.

The three of them again spent the night in the waiting room, sleeping more than the previous night since they were exhausted. The next morning, Aramis was taken for tests, so they left to freshen up again.

Once they returned, they received good news.

"He's in a regular room now," said the receptionist. "Number 215."

Three happy men went into the room, each of them wanting to hug Dr. Harris when they saw that it was private. They found Aramis asleep with less machines around him, though he still had the oxygen cannula under his nose.

Aramis slept for another hour before waking. The morphine was wearing off, so he wasn't loopy. "I've moved," he commented.

They all smiled at him.

"Yup; you're gettin' better!" Porthos said, happily.

"When can I leave?" Aramis asked.

"Dr. Harris said a day or two, yesterday," said Athos.

"I hope that hasn't changed," Aramis said, slowly moving a hand towards his left side.

No one stopped him when they saw how carefully he touched it, laying his hand over his ribs with a wince.

"Are you hungry?" Treville asked. "How's your stomach?"

"It feels fine," Aramis told him. "How long have I been here?"

"This is the third day," Athos told him.

Aramis looked at them with sympathy. "You must all be exhausted. I'm sorry."

Treville reached over to grab his arm. "You are not allowed to apologize for anything. None of this is your fault; I take responsibility for it all and I'll be sorry until the end of my days."

Aramis moved his hand from his ribs and placed it over Treville's, knowing that words wouldn't alleviate his guilt.

"You didn't answer me," Treville said. "Are you hungry? I'll go get scrambled eggs for you."

Aramis had a bit of an appetite, so he nodded, before reaching a hand to his head and rubbing his left temple.

"Not a good idea to nod a concussed head," said Porthos. "Especially with the painkillers wearin' off."

Aramis closed his eyes for a moment when his vision wavered.

"Hey, you okay?" Porthos asked, squeezing his arm.

"Fine," Aramis told him. "Just a little dizzy."

"Keep still," Athos told him.

"Your stomach still all right?" Treville asked.

"Yes," Aramis told him, remembering not to nod.

"I'll go get breakfast," Treville told them before leaving.

The dizziness didn't last too long for Aramis, and when Treville returned with the food, Aramis was able to feed himself, though he was slow, obviously weak.

"Delicious," Aramis commented. Treville had included a pancake too, carefully cut up for him. "You don't have to keep spending your own money."

"I intend to pay for _everything_ ," Treville told him. "Food, co-pays…it's my fault you're here."

"No it isn't," said Aramis. "You didn't know that someone would run a red light."

"But _I_ sent you out, for a ridiculous reason," Treville countered. "So just be quiet and eat; that's an order from your captain."

It was said with a smile and Aramis knew that it would be pointless to argue, so he let it be. "Well, thank you."

"It's the least I can do," said Treville.

Not long after eating, Aramis was in a lot of pain again and the morphine came just in time...with a condition.

"I'm giving you a little less," Dr. Harris said. "I'm sure you don't want to hear that, but since I might let you go tomorrow, I don't want you to leave addicted to morphine."

Aramis did well, considering, and the lower dose made him less loopy. "I can't believe my car is destroyed," he eventually said. "My beautiful car!"

"You can get the same one again," said Athos. "Insurance will give you a huge injury settlement along with most of the cost of the car. You could walk away from this with thousands in the bank left over."

Aramis knew he was right. "But it still hurts...in here," he said, pointing to his heart with a sniff. "That car was special."

Everyone nodded sympathetically.

"Did you ever think of getting something different this time?" Porthos asked.

"No," Aramis immediately said. "Trading in a car for something else is _one_ thing, but having it unexpectedly destroyed is another." He put a hand over his eyes, and it was obvious that the drugs were making him emotional even though he wasn't as loopy.

"Everything will be fine," Treville said, patting his arm. "You'll be healthy again soon, you'll have another Adele with little Pusheen hanging from her mirror, and you'll be back to work adding more gray hairs to my head."

Aramis suddenly removed his hand. "Work! How long will I be out of work?"

"That's up to the doctor," said Athos.

Aramis groaned. "But I'm so used to being around you guys every single day. What will I do when you're all at work all day and I'm home alone bored?"

"Don't think about that," said Treville. "You might not be out as long as you think. Maybe you can come back early on desk duty."

"We can bring you in anyway and you can lie on the couch," Porthos added.

Aramis sighed without thinking, which made his breath hitch from the pain and he started to cough.

Porthos was out of his chair quickest and he grabbed the pillow, pressing it to Aramis' left side. "Take it easy, take it easy," he said.

Aramis coughed hard, eyes closed and his face paling. It hurt worse because of the smaller morphine dose and he curled his body to the left with a groan, grabbing onto the bed rail with both hands.

Treville was on the right side of the bed, and he stood and started rubbing Aramis' back, hating himself for being the cause of his injured friend's pain.

The coughing fit didn't last very long, mainly because Aramis succeeded in suppressing most of it in reaction to the pain. He remained in that position, clutching the bed rail with his eyes closed as he breathed carefully.

The others all watched with sympathy, helping him resettle himself when he was finally able to let go of the rail.

"Ow," Aramis eventually said.

"I'm so sorry," Treville repeated.

Aramis swallowed before he spoke. "Not your fault...it's _mine_...for the stupid whoopee cushion. My plan backfired."

Treville said nothing for a moment, before he suddenly started laughing.

The others looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.

Treville looked at Aramis. "If you could've seen their faces!" He kept laughing. "They might've been more surprised about it than _I_ was!"

Porthos laughed with him and Athos smiled, shaking his head.

Aramis chuckled, before groaning again and wrapping an arm around his ribs. "Don't...make...me...laugh!" he said, still chuckling.

"What made you do that, anyway?" Treville asked, still laughing.

"As revenge," Aramis told him, trying to stop laughing. "For...making me kiss...Agatha..."

Treville laughed again. "One of my finest moments!"

"But not...one of...mine!" Aramis said, holding in his laughter.

"Au contraire," said Treville. "She told me that was the best kiss she'd ever had!"

Everyone laughed again.

"Probably the _only_ kiss she's ever had!" Porthos exclaimed.

"No, seriously," said Treville. "She said, and I quote, 'that boy has talent!'

Aramis grabbed the pillow and held it to his ribs as he laugh/coughed.

"I guess I deserved the whoopee cushion," said Treville. "Your conscience can be clear, Aramis. I got what I deserved, and the governor and head of the state police have a funny story to tell for the rest of their lives."

Aramis wiped his eyes, still smiling, before he looked at Treville with a serious expression. "I wouldn't have done that if I knew who would be there."

Treville nodded. "I know."

"I would've just saved it for the next day!" Aramis continued.

Everyone laughed again.

Aramis groaned afterwards, closing his eyes. "Argh," he whined, arm still around his ribs. He looked up, and his face displayed a surprised expression.

Everyone turned to see Charles d'Artagnan standing outside the door.

"Hi," he said, with a little wave.

The first word that came to Porthos' mine was, _really?!_ but he said nothing.

"Hello," said Aramis, still wincing. "So you're d'Artagnan. Sorry, I don't remember much from your first visit."

D'Artagnan nodded, cautiously sliding a nervous step into the room, aware that the others were looking at him like rabid dogs. "I'm sure. The drugs, uh, really, uh, did a number on you."

Aramis looked at the others. "Oh _no_ , what did I do?"

No one said anything, not wanting to embarrass him.

"What did I do?" Aramis asked d'Artagnan.

The young man glanced at the others before saying, "You made me apologize to Pusheen." He gestured towards the plushie standing on the swivel table.

Aramis glanced at it before looking at his friends and seeing no contradicting expressions. He looked at d'Artagnan again and cracked up laughing.

Porthos stood. "Don't laugh like that again, you'll hurt yourself."

But it was too late. Aramis started coughing, his face quickly paling.

Porthos held the pillow against his friend's ribs, and was shocked when another set of hands appeared on the pillow.

"You're doing it wrong," said d'Artagnan's voice. He tried to elbow Porthos out of the way.

"How dare you!" Porthos roared, stunned beyond belief.

Another set of hands grabbed Porthos' wrists, and he found that it was Treville, who pulled his hands away. "He's right, look."

The expression of pain on Aramis' face had lessened, and the coughing fit didn't last as long. "Thank you," he whispered.

D'Artagnan gave him a nod. "You have to press it to the actual ribs that are cracked," he told the others. "Otherwise it's pointless because it won't offer any support."

"How do you know which ones are cracked?" Athos asked.

"By where he had his hands," said d'Artagnan, gesturing towards Porthos. "You had one high and one low, which made it obvious that you didn't want to hurt him, therefore the cracked ones were in the middle."

Everyone turned fascinated eyes on him.

"Good detective work," said Aramis, with a breathless smile. "You're hired."

D'Artagnan chuckled. "That's what you said the other day."

Aramis' eyebrows shot up. "I did?"

Treville nodded with a smile. "Yes; you went right over my head."

Aramis chuckled...carefully.

"I came back because I knew you weren't all there in the head the first time," d'Artagnan told him. "And I didn't know if the others told you what I said. I'm so sorry; I floored it when the light turned yellow because I was late for a job interview. It turned red sooner than I expected and you came around the corner before I could stop."

Aramis nodded slightly. "You're not the first person to speed up at a yellow light...we all do it. You weren't charged with any crime, were you? You didn't leave the scene of the accident, did you?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "No, just ticketed for running a red light. I already paid it."

"Good," Aramis said, closing his eyes against the pain in his ribs and head. "I assume you missed the interview completely?"

D'Artagnan nodded, before realizing that Aramis couldn't hear him with his eyes closed. "Yes. That's why you 'hired' me." He chuckled.

Aramis opened his eyes and looked at him for a minute, before looking at Treville. "We need someone to do our paperwork; someone who can keep up with us. He can even fetch your coffee next time," he said with a grin.

The others couldn't believe that Aramis was offering again—while _coherent._

"Aramis—" Treville said.

"I understand," d'Artagnan cut in. "I certainly can't expect something like that." He took a backwards step towards the door. "I just came to see how you are and make sure you knew how sorry I am."

"What's your phone number?" Aramis asked.

"Uh..."

"Text me," said Aramis. "555-7557. Right now."

"Um...okay..." d'Artagnan took out his phone and obeyed.

No sound of an incoming text message filled the room.

"Where's my phone?" Aramis asked.

"In my car," said Athos.

"I want my phone," said Aramis. He looked at d'Artagnan. "I'll be in touch."

D'Artagnan was surprised. "Okay." He gave a little wave. "Bye." With that, he left the room.

"Did the concussion give you brain damage?!" Porthos asked Aramis.

"I feel sorry for him," Aramis said, putting a hand on his pounding head and closing his eyes.

"Sorry for _him_?" said Porthos. "He should be the one feeling sorry for _you_!"

"He does, that's why he came here. Twice," said Aramis.

Everyone just stared at him.

"Are you saying that you really want me to hire him?" said Treville.

"Why not?" Aramis said.

"Knowing that you nearly died because of him doesn't bother you?" Athos asked.

Aramis opened his eyes for a minute with a humorous expression. "Look at our jobs, Athos; we nearly get killed all the time! If one of you did something accidentally that got me harmed, I wouldn't blame you. Accidents don't happen on purpose. D'Artagnan didn't wake up that morning and decide to kill someone and total his own car in the process." He looked at Treville. "No one is to blame for this. _No one_."

Treville held his gaze before nodding and looking away. "You are a lesson in forgiveness. It does you much credit."

Aramis smiled before looking at Porthos. "Can't we all just get along?"

Porthos had to hide a smile at that.

"If you really want me to hire him, I'll consider it," said Treville.

Porthos looked at him with shock.

"But if you change your mind, let me know," Treville said.

Aramis nodded slightly. "Porthos, look at me."

Porthos did.

"I'm alive and will be fine," Aramis told him. "By summer, it'll be like this never happened."

Porthos was quiet, and seemed to be biting his bottom lip.

Everyone waited for him to speak.

"It was close this time, Aramis," Porthos said. "Not like getting shot, when we know, 'okay, a bullet hit his arm, he'll be fine'. We watched them pull you out of the car bleedin', unconscious...we didn't know what the damage was...for all we knew, you might've been dead when we saw you lyin' there." He put a hand over his eyes.

Aramis reached out a hand and Athos tugged Porthos up from his chair and sat him on the side of the bed so Aramis could reach him.

"I understand how you feel," he said, grasping his friend's arm. "And I'm sorry that you had to go through that."

Porthos shook his head and switched the grip to Aramis' hand instead. "Not your fault."

Aramis patted the bed on the other side, looking at Athos, who he knew was just as affected though he showed it less openly.

Athos sat on the left side and Aramis grabbed his hand too. "If the two of you don't want us to hire d'Artagnan, then we won't."

Both Porthos and Athos hesitated, thinking that they were letting Aramis down somehow if they said no.

"Just think about it," Aramis told them.

"It's ultimately up to _me_ anyway," Treville quipped. "But I _will_ take everyone's feelings into account."

"That's all we can ask," Aramis said. He smiled at them quietly for a moment before saying, "Now...my phone, please?"

TBC


	7. Impatient

The next time Dr. Harris came to check on Aramis, he surprised them all by saying that he wanted him out of bed.

"But what if he falls?" Porthos asked.

"Would you _let_ him fall?" the doctor replied.

"Never!" said Porthos.

"Then what are you worried about?" the doctor asked as he pulled the oxygen tubing from behind the bed to lengthen it before removing the pulse monitor from his patient's finger. "If I cut him loose tomorrow, I need to ensure that he's mobile. Plus the risk of a blood clot increases the longer he stays in bed, especially when a lung is involved. Up you go, Aramis." He reached out to take both of Aramis' hands and pulled. "This is how you need to get him up, to put less pressure on his ribs. When he's in bed, have him recline as far upright as he can stand, to lessen the strain." He studied Aramis as he sat on the side of the bed. "Dizzy?"

"Yes," Aramis answered, repeatedly blinking. A sudden chill passed through his body, surprising him.

"Take it slow," said the doctor.

Everyone nervously watched him, and Aramis was surprised when a familiar blue robe was suddenly placed over his shoulders.

"I figured you'd need it," said Treville. "I grabbed it from your apartment."

It was one of Aramis' favorite articles of clothing; made of thick fleece material. "Thank you," he said, with gratitude.

Treville helped him get his arms into the sleeves, with the doctor temporarily disconnecting the IV tube from the port in Aramis' hand. Treville then produced Aramis' slippers and helped him with those too.

"You thought of everything," Porthos observed.

Treville nodded somberly. "I've had plenty of time for thinking."

The doctor took Aramis on his injured side and had Porthos take him on the other, and they gently eased him to stand, holding on tightly when Aramis' knees didn't lock.

"Weakness is normal," Harris said. "Take your time."

Aramis was already breathing heavier, but eventually did manage to lock his knees. He was hunched over in their grip though, as the pain in his ribs shot down the bruised area all the way down to his knee and his head throbbed in time with his heart. He couldn't prevent a little moan from escaping, and he closed his eyes.

"Sit him down," said Harris. "He's not ready."

"No," Aramis protested, reopening his eyes. "I can do it."

"Move Porthos' chair six feet from the bed," Harris told Athos. "Can you make it to that chair?" he then asked Aramis.

Aramis nodded slightly.

Athos obeyed and Treville grabbed one of the blankets off the bed, draping it over the chair to make it more comfortable. Both men couldn't prevent themselves from hovering as Harris and Porthos helped Aramis shuffle over to it. They were all relieved once their injured friend was safely sitting again.

Aramis was breathing heavily, paler and wincing as he blinked against the lightheadedness that was floating through his head. His left hand gripped his knee and his right arm was wrapped around his ribs. He felt Porthos and Athos both squeeze his shoulders, and realized that they were making sure he wasn't going to slip off the chair.

"Are you all right?" Harris asked, using a stethoscope to listen to his lungs.

"Considering," Aramis said, still wincing. He'd been surprised at how much it hurt his left leg to try walking, and he realized that he had yet to see the bruising down the side of his body. He let go of his knee and moved the robe and hospital gown aside to see his leg, and was surprised at the depth of color that went up from the side of his knee and disappeared under the material. "Does it look like this all the way up?" he asked.

"Up to your ribs, yes," said the doctor. "You doing okay in the chair for now?"

"Yes," Aramis said, sitting back slightly and watching as Treville grabbed his own chair and brought it over before gently lifting Aramis' legs onto it.

The doctor nodded, "Good." He slung the stethoscope around his neck before saying, "Your lung sounds a little congested...not too much, but you need to cough when you feel the urge. I might even make it a condition of letting you leave tomorrow."

Treville immediately grabbed the pillow and sat it on Aramis' lap.

Aramis made a face. "That's cruel."

Everyone chuckled, elated to see their injured friend make a joke.

Dr. Harris smiled. "Hey, it's my job. If your lung is clearer later, I'll try removing the oxygen too." He went over to the machine and lowered the percentage. "If you have any trouble breathing, tell someone. I'll be back." With that, he left the room.

Aramis looked at everyone, to find them all staring at him. "What?"

"You ain't coughin'," said Porthos.

Aramis made a face. "Not yet."

They all realized that his trip to the chair had increased the pain, so they couldn't blame him for waiting for it to die down.

Aramis spent a lot of time in the chair and eventually obeyed his instructions, coughing in an effort to clear his recovering lung. Dr. Harris kept his word of removing the oxygen and Aramis seemed to do fine without it.

Everyone slept in Aramis' room that night, though at least one of them was always awake watching him. Once morning came, Aramis' first words were "When can I leave?"

"The doctor checked on you an hour ago but didn't say," Athos told him. "He told us to find out how your breathing feels without the oxygen."

Aramis said nothing for a minute and they watched every inhalation. He suddenly lifted his hand to look at the tiny plastic monitor on his finger, which displayed 90%. He took a deeper breath with a wince, and saw the number change to 91.

Everyone wondered what he was doing, as they couldn't read what he was seeing.

"Aramis?" said Treville.

Aramis held out his finger so they could see.

"Your oxygen level," Athos deduced.

"Should it be a hundred percent?" Porthos asked.

"As close as possible," Aramis answered.

"Any chance it could be defective?" Porthos asked. He pulled it off his friend's finger and put it onto his own, and they watched as it shot up to 100% on his next inhale.

"Not defective," said Athos.

"Not with lungs like mine!" said Porthos. He slipped it off and grabbed Athos' hand, sticking it into his finger instead. The 100 stayed.

"You broke it," Aramis said with a smile.

Porthos shot him a mock-glare before pulling it off Athos' finger and holding it out towards Captain Treville, who stuck it onto his own finger. It changed to 99 before going back to 100.

"Not broken," said Porthos. "But captain, I think you're getting old."

Everyone chuckled.

Porthos took it and stuck it back on Aramis' finger, where they watched the number drop to 90 again. "Darn it," he commented.

"You need to inhale deeper," Treville told Aramis. "You're breathing too shallowly."

Aramis obeyed, but winced again.

"The doc probably won't let you leave if that number doesn't go up," Porthos said.

"I wanna go home," Aramis impatiently whined. "Is this day four?"

"Yes," said Athos.

Aramis sighed, before wincing and starting to cough.

Athos pushed the pillow against Aramis' side, holding it there until Aramis stopped. He suddenly noticed that Treville had hold of Aramis' wrist and was watching the monitor on his finger.

"It went down to 85 when you coughed, Aramis," the captain said.

Aramis said nothing, catching his breath.

"Looks like you still need the oxygen," said Porthos.

Aramis shook his head, which wasn't throbbing as badly, he was relieved to see. "Wanna go home," he repeated.

"Then breathe deeper," said Treville.

Dr. Harris came in soon after and confirmed what Treville had said, that Aramis needed to breathe more deeply. He had them get Aramis out of bed again and make him walk around a little with their help…which lowered his oxygen level even further. Harris showed him some breathing exercises and told Aramis that his oxygen level had to be at a consistent 95% before he could leave.

The command depressed Aramis, who'd thought that he would be out of there by noon. He did what he was told, but it was only at 92 by then.

"I'm gonna be stuck here forever!" he complained.

Dr. Harris tweaked his pain medication, weaning Aramis further off the straight morphine and giving him pills instead. They seemed to help more than the decreased morphine doses had, and Aramis was able to breathe a little deeper.

When the oxygen percentage finally reached 95, Aramis could've jumped for joy…especially considering that it was nearly suppertime by then. "Can I go now?" he asked.

Dr. Harris chuckled. "I'll get the paperwork started…it could take an hour, though."

Aramis frowned, knowing that it was a stall tactic. "You forget that I'm a detective."

"You forget that _I'm_ a doctor," said Harris. "I want that to _stay_ at 95." He tapped the monitor.

"Paperwork!" Aramis demanded, rolling his eyes.

Harris chuckled and left.

"Why don't you just stay the night and leave in the morning?" Porthos asked. He was disturbed by Aramis' weakness and concerned that his oxygen level could drop again.

"This isn't a hotel," Aramis replied.

"I'm sure he would let you stay one more night if you asked," Athos said. "Your injuries are serious."

"I want to _go_ ," Aramis answered.

"But Athos is right," Treville said. "Be practical."

"The doctor wouldn't be letting me leave if it was unsafe," Aramis told them. "We all know him; he's no quack." He suddenly smiled. "But _he_ doesn't have to know that."

Everyone chuckled.

When the hour was up—and Harris made him wait the _entire_ sixty minutes—Aramis' oxygen level was still 95%.

"Looks like you're a free man," the doctor said. He headed over to remove Aramis' IV. "You have a follow-up appointment here the day after tomorrow at 10am, and I faxed prescriptions to your pharmacy." He then looked at the others. "Only baths for him, _not_ showers. He doesn't need to slip and make those ribs worse. Any questions?"

Aramis thought for a minute. "No." He stuck out his right hand. "Thanks, for everything."

Harris smiled and shook his hand. "I'll get a wheelchair up here while your friends get you dressed."

Aramis nodded and didn't protest their help. They had to do everything for him, dressing him as if he were a child. The cracked ribs made it impossible to move his left arm much or bend over, the terrible bruising down his leg made him unable to lift it, and the exertion increased his headache and breathing. He simply sat there and let them manhandle him. When he was finally able to see all the nasty bruising on his body, he was surprised at the sight. The stitches in his skin where the chest tube had been inserted looked ghastly in the middle of it, like something out of a horror movie.

When he was dressed, he gave Treville a slight smile. "Stylish outfit."

Treville smiled back. He'd brought a pair of Aramis' sweatpants and his favorite Star Wars sweatshirt. "I didn't think jeans would be comfortable with your ribs."

Aramis nodded his agreement.

When the wheelchair arrived, they carefully helped him sit in it and the orderly wheeled it through the halls. By the time they got to the door, Aramis was thoroughly dizzy. He said nothing though, and was surprised when hands were suddenly on him, zipping up his jacket.

"It's raining," Treville said, apologetically, as if there was something he could've done about the weather.

The wheelchair was suddenly moving again, and Aramis was finally outside in the fresh air, protected under the awning as the rain lightly fell. It felt wonderful—if a little chilly—and then hands were suddenly on him again.

"Aramis?"

He blinked his vision into focus, finding everyone staring.

"You all right?" Porthos asked.

"Fine," Aramis answered.

Everyone knew that he was weak and hurting, so they figured his behavior was normal and they carefully pulled him out of the chair and sat him in the backseat of Athos' Cadillac.

Aramis sucked in his breath at the pain, and when a body was suddenly sitting beside him, he leaned against it.

Porthos gently wrapped his arm around Aramis' back, holding him steady when Athos drove away a moment later. The ride was occasionally bumpy, and Athos cringed each time he accidently hit a pothole.

Treville was in the front seat, and he was turned around the whole time watching. The only thing that had stopped him from sitting on Aramis' other side was not wanting to risk bumping into his cracked ribs.

Aramis suddenly moaned when they hit one of the potholes.

"I'm so sorry, Aramis," Athos said.

"Not your fault," Aramis replied.

It was a tense ride to their injured friend's apartment, a ride that took too long for all of them. When they finally arrived, Athos pulled up to the door and they carefully got him out. Porthos pulled Aramis' arm around his shoulders in support, and slowly helped him walk inside.

Athos quickly parked his car and ran to catch up as Porthos and Treville got their friend to the elevator. Aramis lived on the second floor, and when the elevator stopped, Aramis' knees suddenly buckled.

"Whoa, whoa!" Porthos exclaimed, as they tightened their grips on him.

"Oh, wow," Aramis mumbled as his head spun. "That was a roller coaster."

The others held him steady until he could move again, and the walk to Aramis' door was very slow. Treville produced his key and opened it, holding it open as Athos and Porthos helped Aramis inside.

"Home sweet home," Aramis commented with relief.

They brought him to his bedroom and put him straight to bed, conveniently not having to change him out of his jogging suit—another reason why Treville had chosen that outfit.

"I'll pick up your prescriptions and buy some food," said Treville. "Is there anything you want or need?"

Aramis took a few seconds to answer, catching his breath. "I'm…not sure," he answered honestly.

"Think about it," Treville told him. "Text me if you come up with anything."

Aramis closed his eyes with a slight nod, and Treville left.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Athos and Porthos stood staring at Aramis, who looked pained and exhausted, eyes closed.

"I need a bath," Aramis suddenly said, reopening his eyes. "I feel covered with germs by being in a hospital for four days."

"Do you feel capable of bathing?" Athos asked.

Aramis closed his eyes again. "No."

"You're right though, you need to get clean," said Porthos. "I'll run you a soapy bath, all you have to do is lay in it for a while. You'll need clean sheets too."

"I'll take care of that," Athos said.

Porthos went into Aramis' bathroom and turned on the water, pouring in the body wash that sat on the shelf and watching the water turn into suds. He used so much that it looked like a bubble bath and he chuckled before he went back for Aramis. They got him off the bed, helped him shuffle to the bathroom, and minutes later, Aramis was inside the water.

"How's the temp?" Porthos asked. "Do you want it hotter or cooler?"

"Hotter."

Porthos turned the knob and smiled at the look of contentment on Aramis' face. "Don't fall asleep in there."

"Mmm," Aramis answered, eyes closed.

Porthos sat on the closed toilet seat, not thinking it wise to leave Aramis alone.

A few minutes later, Athos poked his head in. He spotted the shower curtain drawn halfway closed and walked in with the dirty sheets, dropping them into the hamper and looking at Aramis, whose head was the only thing visible from a mass of suds. "Please tell me he's not asleep in there."

"I'm…not really sure," Porthos answered.

"That's hardly safe in his condition," Athos scolded.

"I know," Porthos said. "That's why I'm not leavin' this room."

"Don't let the water get cool," said Athos. "He went into shock, remember? He needs to stay warm."

"I know," Porthos said. He reached over to nudge their friend's shoulder. "Hey Aramis? You gotta wake up."

"Mmm...?"

"Wake up."

Aramis slowly turned his head to blink at them.

"He _was_ asleep," said Athos, shooting Porthos an accusing look.

"Let's do your hair, Aramis," Porthos said. "You gotta get back to bed."

A minute later, Aramis was painfully sitting upright in the soapy water, too half-asleep to even feel foolish that his friend was putting shampoo on his head for him.

Porthos gently lathered it up before taking the showerhead from Athos and rinsing it away. "Can you wash your face?" he asked.

Aramis sluggishly reached out for the soap that Athos handed him and obeyed.

"Hold your breath," Porthos told him, before rinsing his face next. "There we go, all done!"

Aramis closed his eyes, unable to keep them open. He suddenly shivered, which caused a flurry of activity for some reason and the next thing he knew, he was painfully sitting on the side of the tub wrapped in towels while Athos held onto him to keep him upright.

Porthos was vigorously scrubbing at his hair with a towel to dry it as much as possible, and then they both helped Aramis into a pair of pajamas.

The activity woke Aramis up a little, and he tried to stay awake while Porthos blow-dried his hair, not wanting to leave his head wet. Getting back to the bed was a struggle for Aramis, even with their help, and he gave an inward sigh once he was in bed again. The scent of fabric softener reminded him that the sheets were fresh, and he felt mentally better, at least. "Thank you," he said to them both, just before he fell asleep.

The others watched him.

"That went well?" Porthos said, sounding unsure.

Athos sighed. "I don't like how weak he is."

Porthos nodded. "Me neither."

They were quiet again as they watched him sleep.

"They gave him anesthesia twice," Porthos said. "While he has a concussion."

Athos nodded. "True. That has to be it." His phone suddenly buzzed and he looked at it, finding a text from Treville.

 _Does he want anything?_

Athos texted back: _We gave him a bath and he fell asleep._

Porthos looked over his shoulder. "Tell him Axe body wash," he said, aware that he'd poured half the bottle into the tub. "And Fritos and Cheetos, in case Aramis wants to feed Pusheen again!"

Athos shook his head with amusement and obeyed, waiting for Treville's acknowledgment before he put the phone back into his pocket.

When Treville came back, it was obvious that he'd spent over a hundred dollars. He had all the things that Aramis liked, plus staples like milk, eggs, butter, bread, a case of bottled water, and everything he could think of that they'd need. He'd bought Aramis some magazines to read once he was up to it, and he also had a massive pot of the special chicken soup—still in the pan—from the Italian deli.

"I told them he was getting out of the hospital today and they made it for him this morning," Treville told Athos, putting it on the stove along with a whole loaf of still-warm Italian bread.

"Generous people," Athos commented.

"More than you know," Treville said. He took out a bakery box and opened it, displaying calzones and pastries inside. "They refused to take a dime from me, telling me that Aramis is 'such a sweet boy'." He chuckled.

"They're _very_ generous," Athos amended.

Treville chuckled. "They're delivering a pizza tomorrow night. I bet Aramis never realized that stopping a thief from robbing them last year would make them adopt him!"

Athos nodded. "Indeed."

"How's Aramis doing?" Treville asked as he put the milk into the fridge.

"He's very weak," Athos told him, with a sigh. "The bath appeared to take a lot out of him."

"Probably all the drugs combined with his concussed brain," Treville said.

Athos nodded. "That was the same conclusion that Porthos and I came to."

"He'll be fine," Treville said. "You know Aramis." He sighed though after he said it, leaning both hands on the counter. "But I still can't believe that it wouldn't have happened if only..." He shook his head.

"What's done is done," said Athos. "We can only move on from here. The guilt you feel is normal, and Aramis not wanting you to blame yourself is _also_ normal. No one knows the future; all we can do is live in the present and guard ourselves from repeating the past."

Treville looked at him. "True words of wisdom. Thank you."

Athos nodded, before noticing one of the magazines and picking it up. It was all about Star Wars and cost $20. "He'll love this."

Treville nodded. "I know; it's the least I could do."

Athos helped him put the rest of the groceries away before they took Aramis' prescriptions and went into his bedroom, finding him sleeping soundly with Porthos watching him from a chair beside the bed. They looked a question at him and Porthos gave them the thumbs-up gesture to tell them that Aramis was doing fine.

The next two hours passed quietly, before Aramis suddenly woke coughing. Groggy and momentarily confused, he gave a cry of pain and then a gasp of surprise when a pillow was suddenly shoved against the left side of his ribs.

The drugs had worn off while he'd slept, and pain stabbed through his cracked and bruised body. It was a coughing fit that he'd never forget for the rest of his life, as his lungs didn't cooperate with him when he tried to stop, which continued to increase the pain.

Seconds later, arms unexpectedly snaked around him from behind, hugging the pillow to his ribs and bracing his body, keeping him steady as he coughed. He didn't remember being pulled into that position, but it helped a lot to support his ribs.

Eventually, the coughing died down and his head dropped back against someone's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," came a voice in his ear. "I'm so, so sorry."

Aramis realized that it was Treville, and he was obviously still blaming himself.

Aramis couldn't answer, gasping painfully. A cup suddenly touched his lips and he obediently drank.

"Every drop," said Porthos. "There's painkillers in it."

Aramis obeyed, swallowing the two pills. The cup was pulled away for a second before appearing again.

"The antibiotic now," Porthos told him.

Aramis moved his head to the side so he could catch his breath a little first, and then he drank those too. He scrunched his eyes shut when Treville carefully reclined him against his pillows again, and he couldn't prevent the groan that passed his lips. The pain was so bad that he clenched his hands into fists, and wasn't surprised when someone picked one of them up and pried it open to hold.

"Are you all right?" Athos' voice asked.

Eyes closed, Aramis carefully nodded his aching head.

"We didn't realize the drugs had worn off," Porthos apologetically told him.

"S'okay," Aramis whispered.

The hand holding his gave it a squeeze. "You need to eat with those pills." It was Treville. "We have a lot for you to choose from."

Aramis wasn't hungry, but he'd rather force himself to eat rather than get nauseated from the drugs. "Like...what?" he whispered.

"Your favorite soup," said Treville. "Calzones, meatballs."

Aramis smiled slightly. "Bless their hearts."

"Don't forget the Fritos and Cheetos," said Porthos. "Pusheen has to eat too!" He pointed at the plush cat which sat on the nightstand.

Everyone laughed.

They had a feast, with Aramis eating the soup and a couple of meatballs. It was obvious that he'd forced himself to eat as much as he did; his appetite was still not what it should be—which wasn't surprising, considering—but he did all right.

It grew late quickly, and Aramis fell asleep not long after eating. He appeared to be out like a light, motionless and quiet. They all desperately hoped that he'd sleep through the night, but everyone doubted that he would.

"We'll watch him in shifts," Treville said. "Do you mind if I go first? The chief wants me in his office first thing in the morning."

The others nodded their understanding before taking one last look at their injured friend and leaving the room. They headed towards Aramis' couch and loveseat, each one laying down and getting comfortable. They were quiet for a few minutes, lost in their own thoughts.

"This is crazy," Porthos suddenly said, putting a hand over his eyes. "I still can't even believe that this happened."

"I know," Athos agreed.

"I'm glad he's out of the hospital," Porthos continued.

Athos nodded with a sigh of relief. He stood and went into the kitchen before returning with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He handed one to Porthos and filled it.

Porthos was surprised to see his hand shake. "Hey, you okay?"

Athos nodded before gulping the wine. He started to pour himself another glass, but he changed his mind and corked the bottle instead, standing it on the floor beside the loveseat, out of sight.

Porthos watched, realizing that Athos didn't want to risk getting drunk while Aramis needed him. "You don't have to be so stoic all the time, Athos," he said. "One of our closest friends just almost died; it's normal to react. Don't bottle it all in, for your _own_ sake."

Athos scrubbed both hands down his face and remained in that position.

Porthos moved to the loveseat and wrapped an arm around him, feeling the light shaking that filled his body. "I shook nonstop," he said. "The whole time Aramis was in surgery and the first day and night that he was in the ICU. When they pulled him out of the car, I almost couldn't breathe."

Athos remained quiet, hands still over his face.

Porthos squeezed him. "See, this is what happens when you deny yourself human expression," he said. "You eventually crash." He cringed at the word 'crash', wishing he'd thought before he'd spoken. "Say somethin', before you spontaneously combust."

Athos' hands dropped away. "The two of you are my brothers," he softly said. He opened his mouth to say more, but couldn't.

Porthos understood. "I know, and Aramis does too."

Athos sighed and lowered his head. He eventually laid back down again and Porthos went back to the couch. Despite their worry for their friend, they both fell asleep.

TBC


	9. You Again?

Treville quietly closed the bedroom door, hoping that the two other men wouldn't hear any noise should Aramis wake. He sat in his chair and stared at Aramis, who remained motionless, deeply asleep. He couldn't stop himself from thinking back to the scene of the accident, of seeing Aramis' limp body being placed on the stretcher. He still couldn't believe that the whole whoopee cushion incident had resulted in Aramis nearly getting killed, and he gave a soundless sigh.

Aramis suddenly moved, shifting his left arm and turning his head slightly. He took a deeper breath and winced with a little cough, but it didn't turn into anything worse and he never opened his eyes.

Treville found himself holding his own breath in an attempt to not wake him if he was dropping right back off to sleep, and he let it out when Aramis' breathing evened out again.

The night passed smoothly with Athos and Porthos taking their own watch over their friend. Aramis woke to cough twice, once with each of them there, and after taking more pain pills, went back to sleep. He slept till mid-morning, and woke to a plate of pancakes.

"How's that?" Porthos proudly asked.

Aramis smiled at him, unable to resist. There were blueberries in them—his favorite—and he smiled wider when Porthos poured the syrup on and literally drowned the pancakes in it.

"The amount of sugar in that is insane," Athos commented.

"I know," said Aramis, taking a happy bite.

He ate them all, to his friends' relief, and they were glad to see that he looked better.

The day consisted in bringing Aramis everything he wanted or needed, and trying to make him eat everything in sight. He stayed awake for longer periods of time, and even replied to concerned posts on his Facebook page, letting people know that he was doing well and would be fine.

Captain Treville texted all three of them throughout the day, and when he returned that afternoon, he brought someone unexpected with him.

"You again?" Porthos blurted.

"I saw Captain Treville pull into this parking lot," d'Artagnan told him. "And decided to see how Detective d'Herblay is doing."

"You followed a cop?" said Porthos. He shook his head with a slight grin. "You have guts."

"I feel terrible about the accident," d'Artagnan said, looking very awkward. "So when Captain Treville drove by me, I saw a chance and I took it."

"Aramis is improving," Athos told him.

D'Artagnan sighed with relief. "Good."

"Who's out there?" they suddenly heard.

Porthos went into the bedroom, and they suddenly heard Aramis say, "Send him in!"

D'Artagnan looked a little surprised, but walked forward when Athos motioned him to. He stood in the doorway and looked at Aramis from there. "Hello."

Aramis smiled, though he was still pale and looking pained. "Come in."

D'Artagnan did, walking over to one of the chairs beside the bed. "Feeling better?" he asked, very aware of the stare that Porthos was giving him from the chair on the other side.

Aramis nodded slightly. "Getting there. Nice of you to visit."

D'Artagnan smiled sheepishly. "Like I told your friends, I feel terrible about the accident. Again, I'm so sorry."

"Like _I_ told my friends, nothing is permanent and I'll be fine," Aramis replied. "It just occurred to me, you weren't hurt from the collision?"

D'Artagnan shook his head and gestured towards his face. "Just these scratches from the airbag, minor whiplash. I feel fine...physically, anyway."

Aramis nodded. "Accidents can be scary. Has it been giving you nightmares or something?"

D'Artagnan sighed. "It has, actually. I mean, when I got up that morning, I never thought that I'd nearly kill someone. A cop, even." He felt the stare from Porthos grow more intense, and he was surprised that a growl didn't accompany it.

Aramis sighed, before flinching with a wince and starting to cough. He pulled the pillow against his left side and tried to suppress the spasming from his lungs.

D'Artagnan winced himself.

Aramis looked at Porthos. "Tea?" he managed to choke out.

Porthos nodded and swiftly left the room.

"Quick," said Aramis, in-between coughs. "What...skills...do you have?"

D'Artagnan blinked at the unexpected question. "Skills? Um…well…I'm a lip-reader."

Aramis' eyebrows shot up.

Porthos quickly returned. "Athos is makin' it for you."

Aramis nodded as the coughing died down. He looked paler, and closed his eyes as he tried to breathe through the pain.

Porthos put a hand on his arm, throwing a glare at d'Artagnan, who looked at the floor.

Aramis reopened his eyes quickly, knowing that d'Artagnan was still there. "I'm all right," he said.

"Strange way to describe yourself," said d'Artagnan.

Athos came in a minute later with the tea and placed it in Aramis' hands, keeping hold of it as Aramis raised it to his lips.

"Mmm," Aramis said, as the wonderful heat warmed his aching chest. "Thank you," he whispered. A wave of dizziness suddenly swept over him when his head suddenly throbbed, and his hands dropped away from the cup as his eyes slipped closed again.

Athos pulled in a startled breath, but let it out when Aramis continued to drink the tea. He tipped the cup back so his injured friend could get it all, before he put it down on the nightstand and fiddled with the blankets that covered him.

"What just happened?" d'Artagnan nervously asked, noticing what had almost looked like a faint.

"He got dizzy," said Porthos, squeezing Aramis' arm.

Athos put a hand on their injured friend's shoulder. "Aramis?" he said.

Aramis moved his head slightly, eyes still closed. He said nothing.

"Maybe you should go," a soft voice whispered behind d'Artagnan, who was startled and turned.

Treville gave him a sympathetic smile, understanding the young man's guilt all too well. "He needs to sleep."

D'Artagnan nodded and quietly stood, giving the others an awkward wave before leaving the room.

Treville followed and closed the bedroom door behind them. "Thank you for caring," he said. "The others appreciate it despite Porthos' attitude."

"I understand," d'Artagnan said. "I'm surprised that he hasn't murdered me yet...though I guess he can't, since he's a cop!" He gave a nervous chuckle.

Treville smiled at the joke. "I know how you feel...the guilt." He sighed. "I'm the one who sent Aramis out that morning...on a stupidly pointless and unnecessary errand."

D'Artagnan was surprised. "Oh. So we have something in common."

Treville nodded.

D'Artagnan nodded back as they approached the door. "Well...my number is in Detective d'Herblay's phone. Please let me know if there's anything I can do, no matter how small; I want to make amends."

"All right," Treville said. "Goodbye."

"Bye," said d'Artagnan, and then he was gone.

Treville went back to Aramis' room and found his eyes half open. He'd apparently recovered from his dizzy spell—partially, at least—but he was still very pale.

"Go to sleep," Porthos was saying, patting his arm.

"Wanted to tell you something," Aramis answered, slowly.

"If it's important, you'll remember it later," Athos said.

Aramis couldn't remember no matter how hard he tried, and he was still dizzy, so he closed his eyes and obeyed.

The other three shot each other stressed expressions, wishing that Aramis hadn't been hurt so badly.

The next two hours passed quietly, and at exactly six o'clock, Aramis opened his eyes again. "He reads lips," he blurted.

The others were startled at his sudden voice and looked at him.

"What?" said Porthos.

"D'Artagnan reads lips," Aramis said, feeling woozy. He blinked and gave his head a shake, which only made it worse. Pain thumped through his head and he winced, shifting slightly and putting his right hand over his cracked ribs.

Treville was ready with his pills, and helped him take them, making him drink an entire glass of water before they addressed what he said. "He reads lips?"

"Yes," Aramis said. "That would be...a great...asset to us." He took a careful breath as he suppressed his lungs' desire to cough.

Treville thought about it. "It would," he said.

"I don't think I can look at that kid every day knowing that he almost killed Aramis," Porthos told him.

Treville was silent for a moment before saying, "Don't you think of that now when you look at _me_?"

"You couldn't have known what would happen," said Athos.

"Neither could d'Artagnan," said Treville, with a sigh.

Athos and Porthos looked at each other and had a silent conversation.

"Fine," said Porthos, with a sigh. "Havin' a lip-reader would be pretty amazin', with all the silent camera footage we're always lookin' at."

"I agree," said Athos.

"Great!" said Aramis. "I'll tell him." He looked for his cell phone and saw it on the nightstand out of his reach.

"Slow down!" said Treville. "I'll have to interview him first, do a background check, and all that."

Aramis halted, realizing that he was right. Before he could say anything else, the doorbell rang.

Porthos smiled. "That would be our pizza."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The three men again took turns staying in Aramis' room while he slept. Their friend rested quietly for most of the night and only woke at two in the morning to cough. They hoped that he'd sleep the rest of the night undisturbed, but around five, he woke again with a sudden moan.

Athos was the one in the room at the time, and he reached over and put a hand on his friend's arm. "Aramis?" he said.

Aramis scrunched his eyes shut tighter and dragged a hand to his chest, before opening his eyes and looking at Athos.

"Are you all right?" Athos asked with concern.

Aramis looked groggy and shook his head, to Athos' dismay. Before he could ask what was wrong, Aramis started to cough.

Athos pulled him further upright and sat beside him, wrapping an arm around Aramis' back and helping him hold the pillow to his left side.

Aramis continued to cough, wincing from the pain. He managed to stop for a few seconds before moaning again, which renewed the coughing.

The door suddenly opened as Porthos and Treville both came in, looking sleep disheveled. Noticing that Aramis' cough suddenly sounded wet, Treville grabbed some tissues out of the box on the nightstand and placed them in his hand.

Aramis held them to his mouth, coughing again a few times, before suddenly spitting into the tissues...which turned red.

A shock of fear trembled through each one of them, and Treville pulled Aramis' hand away from his face, displaying the bloody tissues.

"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed. He looked at the others. "Did the doctor say that could happen?!"

No one was sure.

"I'm calling 911!" Porthos said, looking around the room for a phone.

"Wait!" Aramis said.

They all looked at him.

"I'm fine."

"AUGH!" Porthos threw his arms into the air.

"Hold on!" Treville said to him. "It might not be abnormal...he had a hole in his lung, for goodness sake."

"So you want to ignore the fact that Aramis just coughed up _blood_?!" said Porthos.

"It's not just blood, it's bloody _mucus_ ," said Treville. "Not quite the same thing."

Athos looked faintly sick at the notion. He still had his arm around Aramis and handed him some clean tissues. "Spit," he said.

Aramis did, and it wasn't bloody.

"How is your breathing?" Treville asked him. "The same as it's been?"

Aramis nodded.

Treville moved behind him and put his ear on the left side of Aramis' back. "Breathe as deeply as you can."

Aramis obeyed, his breath hitching from the pain.

"I can hear air going in and out," Treville said, relieved. "Not _too_ much congestion, either. That glob might've been bloody from the start, and it took this long to come up."

Everyone stared at Aramis for a minute, critically assessing him. He looked tired, pale, and in pain, but was as alert as he could be, considering.

"He has an appointment at the hospital at ten," said Athos. "Dr. Harris will be there by seven. We can call and ask him then."

Everyone's eyes swung to the clock, to see that it was nearly five-thirty.

"Aramis," said Treville, handing him more tissues. "Cough."

Aramis put them over his mouth and obeyed. To everyone's relief, there was no blood.

"Do you want to wait?" Treville asked him. "If not, we'll take you to the emergency room right now."

Aramis tiredly laid his head on Athos' shoulder. "No ER," he said. "I'll be stuck there waiting anyway."

That was true.

"I don't like this," said Porthos. "I'm googling it, at least!"

Aramis waved his hand as if saying, 'go ahead'.

Treville again placed his ear against Aramis' back to hear his lung. When he pulled away, he looked satisfied, so he and Athos reclined Aramis back against his pillows, watching as he fell back to sleep. They both looked at Porthos, who sat staring at his phone.

"Well?" Athos asked.

Porthos nodded. "It can happen," he whispered back. "But it can also be very bad."

Athos sighed and looked at Treville.

"He didn't literally cough up blood," said the captain. "It wasn't liquid; it was mucus that was bloody. There's a difference."

Athos looked at the clock: 5:35am. One thing was definite: the next hour and a half was going to pass _very_ slowly.

TBC


	10. Kill the Wabbit

Hi everyone! I was in the hospital since Monday night with diverticulitis that burst a small hole in my colon. My white blood count was 3 times what it should be and I had 3 of the 4 signs of sepsis. It was a nightmare...the pain, the thirst, the hunger...they didn't let me have ANY liquids until Wednesday, and finally let me eat light foods yesterday before discharging me that afternoon. The hole heals itself but they want to remove a 6-inch piece (15cm) of my colon in a couple of months. I really don't want that, but it's better than having another diverticulitis episode that has the potential to kill from sepsis. I thought the kidney stone was bad…this was much worse. Ironic, isn't it, that I wrote Aramis in the hospital for 4 days and then I end up being in the hospital for 4 days? I reaped what I sowed!

So yeah; I was eagerly counting the days to July 12th for the 'Salvation' premiere...I had no idea that I'd be watching it from a hospital bed, argh. Santi was awesome though!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At 6:59, Captain Treville dialed the hospital and asked for Dr. Harris. In less than a minute, he answered.

Treville sighed with relief when he heard his voice. "Thank God."

"What happened?" Harris demanded.

Treville explained what had occurred, and the doctor didn't seem too surprised.

"It's not unusual," said Harris. "Though it also isn't very common…Aramis' lung _was_ collapsed, but it wasn't punctured by a broken rib, either. How is he now?"

"Seems fine," said Treville. "Sleeping peacefully. His breathing sounds normal. We made him cough afterwards and spit to see if there was anymore blood and there was none."

"That was a good idea," Harris told him. "I don't think he's literally bleeding. Let him sleep; have him here for ten and we'll do some tests. If anything happens before that, take him to the ER and have me paged."

"Will do, thanks," Treville said. He went back to Aramis' room and opened the door, and Athos and Porthos both headed over and stood just outside the room as their captain whispered the conversation to him.

Porthos put a hand to his chest and took a deep breath. "So he might be okay."

They all looked through the door at their friend, who slept on, oblivious. At nine, they reluctantly woke him.

Aramis coughed, but it wasn't bad. They gave him his pills and had breakfast, watching every breath that Aramis took. He seemed like it hadn't even happened, which was very encouraging.

Getting Aramis dressed was hard for their injured friend. He was still weak and every movement instigated a flare of pain. He had to be helped out of the apartment and to the elevator by Porthos, but he never complained and tried very hard to keep the wince off his face.

Treville studied him critically. "Asking if you're all right would be a ridiculous question, so I'll say this: if you get dizzy or need to stop, please tell us. I couldn't handle anymore guilt if you faint or fall or something."

"Porthos...won't...let me fall," Aramis said, breathing heavily. "And...detectives don't faint...we 'pass out'."

Everyone smiled, glad to see that he still had his sense of humor, pain or not.

The elevator ride again sent his concussed brain reeling, and it was a minute before he could walk after that. The ride to the hospital was spent in silence aside from the constant questions to Aramis asking if he was doing okay. He said 'yes' each time, but he was glad to get out of the moving car once they arrived.

Dr. Harris was waiting near the door with a wheelchair and he came outside with it when he saw them pull up. Instead of saying hello, the first thing he said was "Sit."

Aramis did, with relief.

The doctor wheeled him inside and started pushing it down the hall. "Does your lung feel any different after the blood?" he asked, getting right down to business.

"No," Aramis told him.

Harris was glad to hear that. "Has he regained any strength?" he asked the others.

"I don't think so," said Treville. "He's more alert, but he hasn't been out of bed yet."

Dr. Harris rolled the chair into a room and he and Porthos helped Aramis get out and sit on the table. Harris closed the door and immediately took out his stethoscope, listening to Aramis' left lung.

Everyone waited with bated breath.

When Harris finally removed the stethoscope, he nodded. "It sounds all right, considering; normal breath sounds with the minor congestion that's expected after a collapsed lung." He grabbed the pulse/oxygen meter and stuck it on Aramis' finger, where it came to life and displayed 95%.

Everyone looked at the doctor.

"Shouldn't it have gone up some by now?" Porthos asked.

"That would've been ideal," said Harris. "But at least it hasn't gone _down._ "

"How long should it remain under one hundred?" Athos asked.

The doctor shrugged. "There's no way to know for sure. Obviously most people are always at a hundred percent, but there are those that are ninety-nine or even ninety-eight." He grabbed Aramis' very thick folder and flipped through it. "You were at one hundred last year during your physical, Aramis, but when you came in with bronchitis a few months later, it was ninety-four. Obviously I'd like it to get back to one hundred again."

"I had asthma as a child, as you know," Aramis mentioned. "My lungs don't do well when I get sick."

Harris nodded as he grabbed the blood pressure cuff and put it around his arm. "One twelve over seventy. A little low, but not unusual, considering. I want to do a chest x-ray because of the bloody mucus, just in case."

Aramis nodded, having expected that.

"You three can stay here," Harris said, as he and Porthos helped Aramis slide off the table and back into the chair. "We'll be right back."

Aramis gave them a little wave as the doctor wheeled him out.

Porthos sat heavily in a chair. "I think this situation took a few years off my life."

Treville sighed. "For all of us."

Harris was right; it didn't take long before they were back, and he put the film against the lighted cabinet. "There's where the air escaped from the lung," he said, pointing to a dark spot. "There's an obvious contusion, and there's more congestion near it. As you can see from the location, the lung is still inflated normally, or else the contusion would be much higher from the shrinkage of the lung during collapse." He looked at Aramis. "There's nothing to indicate any bleeding or a pulmonary embolism. The mucus around the contusion simply absorbed blood from it. You might even cough up more, which you'll see unless you swallow it."

Those words made Athos look faintly sick again.

"I do want to take more blood from you though, to make sure all your numbers look good," Harris continued.

Aramis nodded, before suddenly yawning. He tried to suppress it, not wanting to cough, but he failed.

Athos grabbed the pillow off the end of the table and held it against Aramis' side, and they were glad to see that it wasn't as bad as when he'd coughed up the bloody mucus.

Harris waited until Aramis was done before grabbing his arm and pulling up the sleeve. "Is the pain manageable with the pills?"

Aramis took a couple of breaths before he answered. "Mostly."

"Any side effects?" Harris asked.

"No," Aramis answered.

"You can take a tylenol too, if you have to. _One_ , and not all the time," Harris told him, before tsking at the bruises on the inside of Aramis' elbow and the back of his hand from the IVs and prior blood draws. "It looks like some of our nurses need a refresher course." He used Aramis' other arm instead, taking five tubes of blood and writing Aramis' name on them before placing them in his pocket. "I'll call you tomorrow once I get all the results back. In the meantime..." he looked at the others. "He needs a lot of rest but he shouldn't remain in bed all the time because of the blood-clot risk, which is higher than average for him because of the collapsed lung. Walk him around a few times a day, sit him in a recliner or whatever he's comfortable in. Bring him back the day after tomorrow, same time." He looked at Aramis. "When you're in bed, move your legs around every so often and do this." He sat on the table and pointed his toes towards the ceiling before pointing them straight and then up again. "That'll get the blood flowing in your legs and prevent blood clots too."

Aramis nodded.

Harris got down and clapped him on the shoulder. "Just take it easy and you'll be fine."

Everyone thanked him and Porthos wheeled Aramis out and to the entrance. Athos brought his car to the door and they were on their way.

"How you feelin'?" Porthos asked.

Aramis had his head back against the seat, eyes closed. "Tired."

Porthos watched him sympathetically, hoping that Aramis would regain his strength soon.

"Anything you want while we're out?" Treville asked, turning around in the front passenger seat to look at him.

Aramis didn't react.

"Aramis?"

His eyes opened. "Hmm?"

Treville repeated himself and Aramis appeared to think about it for a moment before shaking his head. "Was there something?" said Treville. "You looked hesitant."

One side of Aramis' mouth came up in a slight smile. "Pistachio ice cream."

Treville smiled back. "It's already in your kitchen freezer."

The other side of Aramis' mouth curled up in a smile, and he closed his eyes again.

Aramis leaned more weight on Porthos on the return trip to his apartment, and it was obvious that the appointment had weakened him further, which didn't sit well with his friends. Once inside, they placed him in the recliner in front of his TV with the remote control and a bowl of ice cream.

"You spoil me," Aramis said, his mouth full.

"Get used to it," said Treville, still unable to let go of his guilt.

The day passed pleasantly, with Aramis sleeping on and off in the chair while watching a marathon of the original Looney Tunes. Of each character, Bugs Bunny was his favorite, and Porthos teased him that it made perfect sense, as Aramis was always getting into trouble just like the famous rabbit.

Shortly before suppertime, Aramis suddenly woke after a nap, and blurted out, "Do you have a pic?"

Everyone blinked.

"Of what?" Athos asked.

"My car."

Everyone averted their eyes, having dreaded the moment when Aramis would ask.

"Yes," said Porthos. "I took pics for the police report when I picked up Pusheen."

"Show me."

"Are you sure you want to see?" Treville asked.

"Of course not," Aramis answered. "But I _need_ to."

"Strong emotion isn't wise in your injured state, Aramis," said Athos. "Can't you wait?"

"I've _been_ waiting," Aramis told them. "It's taken me this long to gear up for it. Show me."

With a sigh, Porthos took out his phone and looked up the first pic, before walking over to Aramis and handing it to him.

The whole side of the bright red Camaro was heavily dented, with the driver's door pushed in and the window shattered. The fender was cracked and the damaged hood was unlatched, the black racing stripes almost looking crooked from the damage. The windshield was splintered all the way across and the deployed airbags could be seen...the instruments that had saved his life.

Aramis felt choked up. "Oh, Adele," he whispered. "Of all the beautiful cars in the world, why you?" He felt Porthos and Athos' hands squeezing his shoulders, and he looked up right into Treville's guilty face.

"I'm—" Treville started to say.

"Don't say it," Aramis told him. "I deserved to be punished for what I did."

Treville frowned.

Aramis shook his head when he realized how that sounded. "I meant by you being angry and sending me for coffee. That's _all_ you did; you didn't do _this."_

Treville sighed.

Aramis handed the phone back to Porthos, unable to look at it anymore. He glanced at the TV and suddenly turned up the volume which Athos had muted when Aramis had fallen asleep.

"Kill the wabbit, kill the wabbit, kill the wabbit!" Elmer Fudd sang, in the Looney Tunes 'What's Opera, Doc?' episode.

Porthos laughed. "My favorite one!" He took the remote from Aramis and rewound it to the beginning, before pushing the couch over to touch Aramis' recliner and perching next to him.

Athos settled beside Porthos and the three of them sat in rapt attention of the hilarious insanity that was Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd.

Treville watched them, shaking his head at the childishness of it all, before he realized something: the cartoon was mindless and funny, which is why they were enjoying it so much...it distracted Aramis from his physical pain and grief over his car, and it distracted Porthos and Athos from their worry over him.

Treville went into the kitchen and threw a package of popcorn into the microwave, before pouring it all into plastic cups and going back into the living room.

Bugs looked like a cross-dresser, wearing an outfit that was distinctly female as he sang, and Treville handed out the cups of popcorn before sitting on the couch next to Athos.

TBC


	11. Recovering

That night, Aramis only woke once to cough—with no blood involved—and in the morning, he seemed stronger.

"We should walk you around some," Porthos said. "Doctor's orders."

"With another bath afterwards, perhaps?" said Athos.

Aramis nodded, knowing that they were both right.

Both men helped him get to the side of the bed, and anchored him there with a hand on each shoulder as they waited out the inevitable dizziness.

"Has any of the pain lessened?" Athos asked.

Aramis nodded his head slightly. "My head aches instead of throbbing."

The others were relieved.

"Your ribs?" asked Athos.

"Not as much stabbing," said Aramis.

"So are the painkillers good enough, then?" Porthos asked. "Do they take away enough of the pain?"

Aramis nodded again. "It's not too bad when I remain still."

Porthos sighed with relief. "I'm so glad."

Aramis smiled. "If I'm asleep when the captain comes back, tell him. I know he still feels guilty."

Athos squeezed his shoulder. "We will."

The two of them pulled Aramis upright and walked him around the apartment. They were glad to see that he seemed stronger, and it alleviated some of their worry. They again assisted him with his bath—not wanting to risk him slipping with cracked ribs—and Aramis fell asleep afterwards.

Athos and Porthos went into the kitchen together and left Aramis alone for the first time since the accident. Porthos sighed as he sat on a barstool and plopped his elbows on the counter. "What a week," he said.

Athos nodded as he took milk and coffee out of the fridge. "I know." He proceeded to pour it into two cups before adding sugar. "He's recovering."

Porthos nodded, with relief. "Yeah, this is the first day that it's _really_ noticeable."

Athos slid one of the cups over to him.

Porthos drank it with a sigh of bliss. "Best drink ever invented."

Athos nodded. "I concur." He went over to the bedroom door and peeked inside before coming back out.

"What do you think about this hiring d'Artagnan thing?" Porthos asked.

"I think Aramis is insane," said Athos, with a sigh. "And the most forgiving person on earth."

Porthos nodded. "Would you be okay with it? I mean, _really_ okay with it?"

Athos wasn't sure how to answer. "Part of me says absolutely not...but the other part says that Aramis is the one who suffered, so the decision is his, not ours." He drank some more of his iced coffee before saying, "And...we really could use a lip-reader."

Porthos nodded. "Now _I_ concur, with everything you just said...even though I'd still like to rip the kid's head off."

"There will be no ripping-off of anyone's heads," said Treville's voice as he came around the corner. "You left Aramis alone?" He sounded a little alarmed.

Porthos nodded. "We walked him around and gave him a bath. He's stronger and said that the pain isn't too bad."

Visible relief flooded Treville's expression. "Thank God." He plopped two suitcases on the counter, one in front of each man. "Here's the stuff you wanted from your apartments."

"Thanks," said Porthos. "I got first dibs on the shower!"

Athos nodded. "Go right ahead."

"Such a gentleman," Porthos joked, before taking his suitcase and heading into the bathroom.

Athos smiled slightly behind his glass. "He forgot that we just filled the tub. He'll run out of hot water before he finishes."

Treville chuckled before peeking into the bedroom and coming back.

"Porthos and I just discussed d'Artagnan," said Athos, as he washed the two glasses. "You really can hire him if you'd like."

Treville nodded. "The lip-reader thing makes it very tempting."

A sudden cough came from the bedroom, and they both hurried inside.

Aramis had a small towel over his mouth and his eyes were closed with a pained expression, as he held the pillow against his ribs. His cough sounded a little wet and made them nervous, even though the doctor had said that there could be a little more blood.

When he stopped, Athos took his arm and pulled his hand away, afraid to look at the towel. He gave a sigh of relief when nothing was there.

Aramis coughed again and cleared his throat. It was obvious that something was trying to make its way out of his lung, but it was being stubborn.

"Are you all right?" Treville asked.

Aramis took a slow breath, trying not to wince. He nodded, looking a little paler.

"Are you hungry?" Athos asked.

Aramis shook his head and closed his eyes.

They both stared at him for a minute, before realizing that he'd fallen back to sleep. The whole incident left them both unsettled, as Aramis hadn't said a single word.

"Maybe he was half-asleep," Athos commented.

They both hoped so.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis woke a few hours later and was his old self again. Whatever had tried so hard to migrate out of his lung had apparently settled, for Aramis hardly coughed at all for the rest of the night.

Treville bought Chinese food and they had a feast.

"I'm gonna gain five pounds tonight," Porthos told Aramis, as he and Athos carefully helped him out of his bed.

Aramis smiled, trying not to wince as they gently pulled him to stand upright. "Only...five?" he said, taking a careful breath.

Porthos chuckled, holding onto him tightly as they waited for him to gain his balance.

It took Aramis only a minute, and he slowly walked with their assistance out to the livingroom, where they carefully deposited him into his recliner, placing a light blanket across his lap and legs.

"Anything in particular you'd like to watch?" Athos said, fetching the TV remote.

It took a few seconds for Aramis to answer, as he fought against the dizzy ache in his head and the pain spreading from his ribs down to his knee. "Rogue One."

Porthos looked at Athos with mock-shock. "Really? You're a detective and you couldn't figure that out? Since 'The Force Awakens' was the other day, obviously this time it would be 'Rogue One'."

"I was just making sure," said Athos. "He has been known to watch 'Force' twice in a row."

Porthos nodded. "True."

Treville brought all the take-out boxes into the livingroom and spread them onto the coffee table, before placing a tray over Aramis' lap. "I figured you wouldn't feel up to using containers and chopsticks," he said.

Aramis smiled at him. "Wise deduction." He looked at the delicious food on his plate…sweet & sour chicken, beef teriyaki, chicken fried rice, moo goo gai pan…his appetite hadn't been up to his usual standard, but he made an inward vow to eat everything that he'd been given.

Porthos put the movie on and they had a pleasant evening. Aramis managed to eat _almost_ everything on his plate, and dozed off a few times. After they gave him more medicine and brought him back into his room to sleep for the night, he was a little loopy again, mumbling about Adele. He reached for Pusheen on his nightstand and fell asleep with her on his chest.

"If the circumstances were different, I'd take a picture to use as future blackmail," said Porthos.

Aramis woke coughing a few times during the night, with that wet sound again that they didn't like. Finally, at almost 6am, he had the worst coughing fit of all, groaning from the pain that it caused, but unable to stop for longer than a few seconds.

Treville sat beside him rubbing his back, full of guilt and wishing that he could take the pain away.

Aramis had his eyes closed, holding a facecloth over his mouth. Someone suddenly moved his hand away and placed a cup to his lips, and Aramis obediently drank, finding warm tea inside. Afterwards, he didn't have a chance to thank whoever had done it before his lungs spasmed again and renewed the coughing.

Porthos sighed from where he sat, holding the pillow against their injured friend's ribs. He looked at Athos, feeling helpless.

Athos felt the same way as he put the cup on the nightstand.

Suddenly, Aramis inhaled a shuddering breath before coughing again. The sound was completely different, and Athos reached over and moved Aramis' hand away from his mouth to see the towel.

As suspected, there was another glob of bloody mucus.

Each of the other three took a breath to steady their nerves, remembering that the doctor said that it could happen again.

Aramis was breathing raggedly, but the coughing had stopped.

"Are you all right?" Treville asked him, still rubbing his back.

Aramis blinked dizzily a few times, before nodding slightly. He hung his aching head and squeezed his eyes shut, and Treville pulled his head down to rest on his shoulder.

"The doctor saw this on the x-ray," said Porthos. "Right?"

Athos nodded. "Yes, near the lung contusion."

Porthos nodded, before looking at the clock. "But why did it have to happen both times in the middle of the night? We can't call the doctor."

"At least it happened both mornings that he had an appointment," said Athos. "Aramis?"

Their friend opened his eyes.

Athos handed him some clean tissues. "Cough and spit."

Aramis obeyed, wincing. To their relief, there was no more blood.

It wasn't time for more painkillers, but the doctor had told them that they could give him Tylenol if he needed additional relief, so that's what they did. After another comforting cup of tea, Aramis fell back to sleep.

When he woke hours later, he told them that it was easier to breathe.

"Really?" said Athos.

Aramis nodded. "Really. I didn't even realize until now just how restricted my breathing was."

"So that glob was in the way," said Porthos.

Aramis made a face, remembering how disgusting it had been to cough it up. "It appears so."

Treville was filled with relief. "I can tell that you feel better today."

"I do," Aramis agreed. "Has it really been a week?"

"Yes."

"Somehow, it seems longer than that but shorter at the same time," Aramis said.

"I hear ya," Porthos agreed.

Eventually, it was time to leave for Aramis' appointment, and they helped him out the door. He seemed a little stronger, to their relief, though the elevator ride made him dizzy again. It wasn't as bad as the other times, and they got him to Athos' car and helped him inside.

Aramis was quiet on the ride, and Treville was about to ask him if he was all right when Athos' police radio came to life.

"All available units head to the Main Street bank for report of an imminent robbery. Caller states that he read the lips of two men who are awaiting a third man to meet them before they go inside, and that firearms were mentioned."

Everyone in the car looked at each other.

"He read their lips?" said Porthos.

Everyone listened to the radio as the dispatcher was acknowledged by nearby patrolmen, and by the time Athos drove into the hospital parking lot, the bank robbery had been thwarted.

Aramis wasted no time in texting d'Artagnan. _Did you just lip-read some bank robbers?_

The reply was immediately. _Yeah, that was me!_

 _Where was the bank?_ Aramis replied, just to make sure.

 _Main Street._

"It was him," Aramis told the others.

 _Are you feeling better?_ suddenly popped up.

Aramis smiled. _Yes. Good work_ ; _Captain Treville will be in touch with you._

 _Are you loopy or do you really mean that?_

Aramis chuckled. _Not loopy, and I mean it._

 _Awesome! Thanks!_

The others couldn't believe that Aramis was laughing with the man who'd almost killed him, and each of them admired his capacity for forgiveness.

"What was that all about?" Porthos asked, as he carefully helped him get out of the car.

"I told him that the captain will be in touch with him," said Aramis. "He's excited."

Treville rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll call him this afternoon."

Dr. Harris met them at the door, and smiled as they came in. "Well, you're looking better," he said to Aramis. "Think you can walk to the exam room?"

Aramis hesitated for only a second before nodding.

They kept the pace slow and Aramis made it, though he was limping and breathing harder once they arrived.

"Not bad, considering," said Harris, as they helped him sit on the table. He took out his stethoscope and listened to Aramis' lungs. "Not much congestion," he said.

"He coughed up what you saw on the x-ray," Treville told him.

"Was it bloody?" Harris asked.

Everyone nodded.

"He said that breathing is easier now," Porthos said.

Harris nodded. "Excellent news; it appears that you're on the mend, Aramis."

"Thank God," Treville said, with a relieved sigh.

They brought Aramis home and put him to bed, as he needed a nap after the exertion of walking around the hospital.

Treville kept his word and called d'Artagnan, who was very eager and said that he was free that afternoon. They set a meeting for 1pm, and he was there five minutes early.

"Can I just say before we begin," said d'Artagnan. "I know that this whole 'hired' thing started because Detective d'Herblay was loopy on morphine, and I just wanted you to know that I'm not—and never was—holding anyone to it."

Treville nodded. "I know. He told us that you're a professional lip-reader, and I admit that we can _definitely_ use someone with that skill in our department."

D'Artagnan smiled and placed his resume on Treville's desk, sliding it over to him.

Treville looked it over, seeing that he'd graduated high school and college early with highest honors. He then brought up a surveillance video on his computer and turned the monitor towards him. "Can you tell me what these people are saying?"

D'Artagnan watched two men speak to each other as they walked towards the camera, oblivious to its presence. "They're discussing an arms deal for guns on the black market."

Treville's eyebrows shot up. "Yes, they are. I guess I didn't need proof of your lip-reading ability after the bank robbery that you thwarted today."

D'Artagnan smiled again. "So when do I start?" he joked.

Treville chuckled and handed him some paperwork. "Fill this out. We have to do a background check, references, that sort of thing. You do realize that you'll have to attend police academy?"

D'Artagnan's jaw dropped. "I hadn't thought of that! So I'll be an actual cop then."

Treville nodded.

"Wow," d'Artagnan said. He filled the forms out quickly and handed them back.

Treville glanced over them quickly to make sure he hadn't missed anything. "I'll call you in the morning."

D'Artagnan was ecstatic. "Thank you so much!" He reached over to shake Treville's hand. "And tell Detective d'Herblay that I said thank you! Oh wait, I can text him..." With that, he left Treville's office with his phone already in his hand.

Treville smiled and shook his head. He had a feeling that d'Artagnan would fit right in with his other three troublemakers.

TBC


	12. Very Fun

D'Artagnan started police academy a week later.

By that day, Aramis was much better; he'd regained enough strength to slowly limp around without help, though Athos, Porthos, or Treville were never more than two steps away, ready to grab him should he falter. He'd had no more bloody mucus from his lung and the pain was bearable as long as he didn't make any fast movements.

D'Artagnan's insurance company quickly provided the money to replace Aramis' car, and Porthos located a dealer that had the same 2016 red Camaro with the black accent package. They had it delivered to Aramis' apartment, and when they took him outside to see it, he was nearly overwhelmed.

Athos kept hold of his arm as they walked over, and Aramis ran his hand along it before reaching to open the door. It was identical to Adele in every way.

"Here," Porthos suddenly said.

Aramis looked to see what he was holding, to find that it was the Pusheen that he'd bought. He chuckled and took it, letting Porthos grab his arms and carefully lower him to sit in the driver's seat. He winced and only pulled his right leg in, leaving his bruised left one outside the car as he hung Pusheen from the mirror. He turned the key in the ignition and was filled with joy to hear the familiar purr of the engine.

Treville watched with a smile, so glad to see him happy.

Aramis looked at him and smiled back before turning off the engine, pulling his right leg outside the door, and holding out his hands.

Porthos grabbed Aramis by both elbows and carefully pulled him out of the car.

Aramis gripped Porthos' forearms, holding on tightly and wincing. Once upright, he looked at the car with longing. "I guess it'll be a while before I can drive."

"You'll be flyin' down the street before you know it," Porthos said, still holding onto him.

Aramis chuckled.

They took him with them to the office that day, and he stayed on the couch reading the Star Wars magazine that Treville had bought him. Being out of his apartment for something other than a doctor's appointment did wonders for Aramis' mood, and he made them take him there every day after that, even if only for a few hours.

A week later, the police academy was closed one day when they had a plumbing issue, so d'Artagnan went to the precinct instead. After being directed to the detective division, he walked in to find Aramis laying on the couch making—of all things—paper airplanes. "Hello," he said.

Aramis was startled—probably because he felt like he'd been caught—and fumbled to hide them before he looked over his shoulder. "D'Artagnan!" he exclaimed.

D'Artagnan smiled and walked closer. "The academy is closed today, so I figured I'd come look around."

Aramis tried to sit up, but the couch was squishy and it wasn't easy with his healing ribs.

D'Artagnan noticed his difficulty and rushed closer, grabbing his wrists and gently pulling him upright.

Aramis winced and exhaled a slow breath. "Thanks."

D'Artagnan nodded. "You look better."

Aramis nodded back. "I am, it's just not easy to sit up yet." He smiled. "How are you liking the academy?"

"It's loads of fun!" d'Artagnan told him. "I've had plenty of times in my life when I wanted to be a cop, but I never persued it. You have no idea how thankful I am...sometimes I feel like this is all a dream."

"Well I hope that it never turns into a nightmare!" said Aramis.

D'Artagnan chuckled. "Where are the others?"

Aramis looked towards the glass wall and saw both of his friends walking down the hall. "Right there."

The door opened a few seconds later and Athos and Porthos walked in, with Athos carrying files and Porthos carrying bags from Burger King.

"Look who's here!" Aramis exclaimed.

"Hi guys," d'Artagnan said, enthusiastic but a little nervous of how they'd react to his presence after what had happened to Aramis.

Athos and Porthos had discussed the situation many times by then, and they both agreed to try their best to make d'Artagnan feel unthreatened, for Aramis' sake.

"Oh _no_ ," said Porthos, dramatically. "Another mouth to feed! Good thing I got extra!"

D'Artagnan stood, feeling awkward. "Don't let me interrupt your lunch—"

Aramis grabbed his arm and yanked him back down to the couch, before taking one of the paper airplanes and throwing it towards Treville's door. He then dumped the rest of the planes onto d'Artagnan's lap.

Treville's door opened just as the plane hit it, and Treville watched as it fell at his feet before looking at the others.

Aramis pointed at d'Artagnan before holding his hands up as if to say that he had nothing to do with it.

D'Artagnan looked at the captain before looking at Aramis and back again, his mouth dropping open in shock.

Treville rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, d'Artagnan, I know it wasn't you."

Aramis sputtered. "What? With the evidence right in front of you? I thought you were a detective!"

Treville walked closer and took the bag that Porthos held out. "I am, which is how I know that _you_ did it, Aramis, despite the false evidence presented to me."

Everyone laughed and Porthos handed out the food.

Treville opened his double cheeseburger and headed over to Athos' desk, shoving it into his mouth as he walked.

*PTHUBBBBBBBBBBBB*

Everyone looked towards the sound, to see Captain Treville sitting in Athos' chair with the burger sticking out of his mouth and his eyes wide open in shock.

"Um," said Aramis, his mouth full of chicken sandwich. "You weren't supposed to sit there?"

Treville took the unbitten burger out of his mouth, leaned his forehead on one hand, and laughed.

Everyone joined in, and d'Artagnan looked at Aramis. "Will it really be as fun to work here as it seems?"

"Oh _yes_ ," said Aramis, his right arm around his sore ribs as he laughed. " _Very_ fun!"

THE END


End file.
